Accidentally Amish

by Olivia Newport

  Jakob’s choice spawned two sets of descendants who would be hard pressed to find common ground three hundred years later. Had he chosen for love? Annie wondered. Or necessity? How dearly had he paid for his choice?

  Annie’s mind wandered to Ruth Beiler. Why had she left her family? What was really going on?

  “Only one way to find out,” Annie said aloud. She closed both books and moved them to the nightstand.

  In her back pocket, her phone buzzed. Annie saw the caller ID: LEE SOLANO.

  What now?

  “Did you get your bid in?” Tom asked Rufus. “The town council just gave the green light for remodeling the visitor’s center.”

  Rufus hesitated and glanced around the house where he was installing a set of built-in bookcases with Tom’s help. “I have some matters to work out.”

  “It’s not a big job, but it seems like a good opportunity for you.”

  “It would be,” Rufus agreed.

  “Then why don’t you bid on it?”

  “It might not be the right time for me.” Rufus dropped his hammer into the toolbox. “I’ve got the motel project and custom built-ins for two of the new homes. That will keep the crew busy.”

  “You can always take on more help.”

  Not if I can’t pay them. “Tom,” Rufus said, “do you know any banks you like in Colorado Springs?

  “A few. Why?”

  “I need to try a new place. Can we go next week?”

  “Sure. Bidding is open for another three weeks.”

  Annie drove north on Rangewood toward the subdivision dominated by townhomes where Barrett lived with his wife, Lindsay, and their infant daughter. She slowed as she approached his street and eventually parked three doors down. Maybe he was home. Maybe if she did not make arrangements ahead of time, Rick would not be able to foil their meeting.

  Annie had just about persuaded herself to present herself at Barrett’s home when his garage door went up. A few seconds later, his green Subaru backed out. The car was filthy, which made Annie’s stomach shoot acid up her throat. Something was not right. Barrett kept his car in impeccable condition. Had Rick done this to him?

  If Barrett saw Annie’s idling car, he gave no indication. He put the car in gear and roared forward, away from her.

  Behind her steering wheel, Annie sighed. She glanced at the clock then put her own car in gear. One more stop might yet answer some questions.

  Ruth turned a page in the textbook and encountered yet another list she would likely have to memorize and reproduce on a quiz. Music blared from the room on one side of her. Ruth could not identify the artist, and she did not care. It all sounded the same to her—deafening, bleating, clamoring. And constant. How did Amanda, the student in that room, find space for a thought? On the other side, through thin walls, Ruth heard dribbles of Tasha’s phone conversation that landed in random intervals during slight lulls of the music. Every time she caught a snippet, she was surprised anyone could still be on the phone for that length of time.

  Ruth called it artificial noise—sounds people chose to fill tender spaces but, as far as she could see, brought them no joy.

  She began to hum one of the slow, soulful tunes from the Aumsbund, the music of her childhood, and simultaneously transferred the list in the textbook to an index card she could carry around and study.

  The music went off abruptly, and Ruth heard footsteps in the hall that joined the five rooms of the dormitory suite. A sharp knock startled her.

  “Somebody here for you, Ruth.”

  She scooted her desk chair back and went to the door. Opening it, she saw a woman a few years older than she was with blond hair and gray eyes. Jeans fitted her hips in smooth perfection. A white eyelet shirt with a slight suggestion of sleeves hung loosely above the jeans, revealing tanned arms. Ruth pulled on the cuffs of her own long-sleeved blouse.

  “Ruth Beiler?” the woman asked.

  Ruth nodded, straightening the plain blue skirt that fell nearly to the floor.

  “I’m Annie. We spoke on the phone last week.”

  Now the voice registered for Ruth. A voice of compassion. “You answered my brother’s phone.”

  Annie nodded.

  “Please come in.” Ruth stood back from the door. “I don’t have much to offer, but I can make tea.” The music cranked up again next door. Ruth gestured with one hand. “And entertainment, of course.”

  “Is it always like this?” Annie asked.

  “Only when Amanda’s here.” Ruth moved to the counter that served as her kitchen to make tea. Stilling the tremble in her hands that came with her visitor’s presence required great focus. “How did you find me?”

  “Your letter. I saw the return address on the envelope.”

  Ruth looked hopefully at Annie.

  Annie shook her head. “No. Rufus has not read the letter.”

  Ruth’s shoulders lost their ridge. “It’s not the first letter. At least he doesn’t send them back. So there’s hope.” She moved quickly to the bed and smoothed the woven cotton blanket. If only she had thought to take a quilt when she left home—not that there had been any time to think that night. “Sie so gut. Please. Sit down. I’m afraid I am out of practice at being a good hostess.”

  Annie sat down on the end of the twin bed. “Do you mind that I’ve come?”

  Ruth shook her head and swallowed. “Not at all. But I don’t understand who you are or why you’ve come.” All she knew was that this stranger had seen her brother—perhaps her whole family—just days ago. Whoever she was, she was a welcome guest.

  The music shut off, and a door slammed.

  Ruth caught Annie’s eye, and they both sighed relief.

  “How do you know Rufus?” Ruth asked.

  “I met him accidentally a couple of weeks ago.” Annie let her bag slide off her shoulder and set it on the floor next to the door. “Then I got hurt, and he took me to your family’s home for a few days. He was very kind—except when I said something about a letter he carries around.”

  “He carries it around?” Hope flowed in Ruth’s veins.

  “In his toolbox. I got the feeling he wanted it close.”

  “He was probably angry that I called his cell phone.”

  “I’m not sure Rufus gets angry.” Annie twisted her mouth on one side. “But when he’s disappointed, it comes through loud and clear.”

  “You seem to understand him well for … an English. Forgive me, but I can’t help wondering about your friendship with my bruder. It’s not like him.”

  “I know. It’s odd. And ‘friendship’ may be too strong a word. Circumstances threw us together briefly. I don’t expect to see Rufus again.” Annie pressed her lips together momentarily. “On the other hand, I get the feeling you would like to.”

  Ruth’s eyes filled, and the tremble rose afresh. She would not be able to withstand long.

  “Ruth?” Annie’s voice was barely audible.

  “Why are they punishing me?” Ruth burst into tears. “I made a choice. It’s a good choice. An honorable choice. I’m going to be a nurse and help people. Why can’t they understand?”

  Annie was on her feet now and wrapped her arms around Ruth.

  “Es dutt mirr leed,” Ruth muttered. “I’m sorry.”

  “We all make choices every day.” Annie stroked Ruth’s back, stilled the tremble. “You have to do what’s right for you.”

  “That is not the Amish way.” Ruth spoke into Annie’s shoulder. “When you’re Amish, choices have deeper meaning. You can’t imagine what it’s like.”

  “Help me imagine, then.” Annie held her tighter. “I know I’m an outsider, but I do care.”

  “Most people just want to gawk at us.” Ruth breathed in the unfamiliar scent of this stranger who had been with her family, hoping for the fragrance of home.

  “I hope that’s not what I’m doing. At least not anymore. Not after meeting your brother and seeing what matters to him.”

  Ruth pulled back f
rom their embrace. “Are you sure there’s not something between you and Rufus?”

  “How can there be? I’m not Amish.” Annie waved both hands in front of her. “I was in a jam. He helped me, and I’m grateful. That’s all.”

  Ruth dragged fingers across both eyes. She did not quite believe her guest. “Then why did you want to find me, Annie Friesen?”

  Why indeed?

  Annie lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “I don’t understand what happened in your family, but I want to help.” Ruth’s resemblance to Rufus was strong—the same brown hair and violet-blue eyes and a more feminine version of his facial structure. Annie saw bits of Lydia and Sophia in Ruth’s expressions, too.

  “How?” Ruth turned to fiddle with mugs awaiting the boiling water.

  “Well, I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

  “Rufus would say you’re interfering.”

  Annie nodded. “He made that clear.”

  “Still, you are here.”

  “I am. I’m used to getting what I want.”

  Ruth put a tea bag in each mug and poured water. “For some people, just wanting what they get would be enough. My life would have been easier if I were one of them.”

  “But you’re not.” Annie stood up straight for emphasis. “If I could make Rufus read your letter, I would. Jacob misses you, if that’s any consolation.”

  Ruth smiled and handed Annie a mug. “I miss him back. He must have changed in all this time. Taller, I suppose. Reading.”

  “He read your name on the caller ID and was afraid.”

  Ruth sat in her desk chair, and Annie perched on the end of the bed again.

  “I don’t want Jacob to be afraid of my name,” Ruth said, her shoulders hunched.

  “Then we have to fix this.”

  “It’s not so simple. What I did—”

  “You made a hard choice, that’s all,” Annie said. “Something tells me you never meant to hurt anyone.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “I believe you.” Annie saw Ruth’s tears threatening another assault. “I know how important family is to all of you. I don’t accept that whatever is between you and your mother must always be painful for you both.”

  “I did something awful.” Ruth’s words were a hoarse whisper.

  “I’m good at solving problems. If you’ll let me, I’ll find a way to help you.”

  Ruth gulped tea, and then slowly she nodded.

  “We’ll make a plan,” Annie said, “and go one step at a time. But first, I want to tell you something I learned because I met your family.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My family line traces back to the original Jakob Byler.”

  Ruth sat up straight. “So we’re related?”

  “Like ten generations ago and six times removed.” Annie grinned. “But we might have a marker or two in our DNA to connect us.”

  “I can think of worse people to be related to. Danke.” Self-conscious, Ruth looked in her mug. “I need more tea. Can you stay for another cup?”

  In the middle of the second cup, Ruth said, “I am trying to obey God. Glassenheit. Submission. That is our way.”

  “But if you submit to God by staying in school, you are not submitting to your parents or to the church.”

  “You understand.” Hope caught Ruth’s breath.

  Annie shook her head. “Not really. It’s hard for me to understand why other people get to make choices for you.”

  Ruth sighed. “The English think we spurn their ways. The truth is we are simply trying to choose God’s way. That’s all I’m doing.”

  “Even if it takes you away from your family?”

  The pressure in Ruth’s chest forced its way out through her throat. “I don’t like to choose between God and … those I love. But it seems to be the only way.”

  “I don’t accept that.” Annie shook her head widely from side to side. “I’m not as close to God as you are—at least not yet—but this doesn’t seem right.”

  “Is it true what you said—that you’re good at fixing things?”

  “Absolutely. I’m going to help you.”

  Ruth closed her eyes and breathed out. “You are an answer to my prayer.”

  They drank three cups of tea. When Annie left and Ruth was cleaning up, for the first time in eighteen months, she did not feel alone. And an English was the reason.

  By the time Annie turned the key in the lock at her condo, she wanted to see Ruth again. She wanted to see Ruth standing between her brothers or in the embrace of her mother.

  She had to go back to Westcliffe. It was the only way to fix this.

  Twenty-Five

  June 1738

  Jakob used both hands to grip the shovel’s handle and send the implement’s sharp edge into stubborn earth. Again. Again. Little by little the ground gave way. This day was like every other day in the nine weeks since they arrived on Irish Creek.

  The land was dense with trees. They had their pick of fir and pine and spruce. The barn went up in a day with the help of the Siebers, Zimmermans, and Stehleys, all on adjoining Irish Creek land, and the Detweilers and others from Northkill. Then came the cabin, which was not large, because Jakob still dreamed of the real house he would have given Verona. But with a loft for sleeping, the family had more space than in the two rooms in Philadelphia. Even with no furniture to speak of, the determined older girls spread their mother’s quilts around so the inside would feel like a home. As soon as Jakob and Christian cleared and turned enough land, the garden went in, and it was beginning to show promise that it would yield. Maria planted a square of beets and refused to let anyone else tend that section of the garden.

  Jakob taught Christian to hold a rifle and aim steady enough to drop a deer. The animals browsed the black oak all over their land, so it was surprisingly easy to sight them. After a few sudden movements that sent the wildlife scurrying before Jakob could lift a rifle, Christian learned to move with stealth through the woods. So far they had a bounty of meat—deer, rabbit, squirrel, wild turkey—but Jakob was looking forward to some vegetables.

  They had cut dozens of trees already, some of them as tall as seventy-five feet. Oak and elm, sycamore and walnut stacked up to be crafted into furniture, planed for floor planks in the permanent house, or cut to warm his children at the hearth when winter raged anew.

  For now Jakob did not want to think about winter. Early June sun gave lengthy light for felling and hauling logs, and the days would grow even longer through the summer. Soon he would yoke the horses and begin wrenching out the stumps scattered across the property. Then they could plow. Then they could plant more than a vegetable garden.

  Whether he swung an ax, notched a log, joined a corner, or tucked Lisbetli into bed, Elizabeth Kallen hovered in Jakob’s moments. He raised his face to the sun, closing his eyes to see her once more standing in the road while the wagon rolled past.

  The flicker in the flame told Jakob he needed to seal yet another draft above the small window. The children were asleep in the loft, but Jakob had abandoned his bed in favor of these quiet moments alone with a pen in his hand.

  Dear Miss Kallen,

  For a long time, he got no further.

  I have been remiss not to thank you more promptly for your final kindness toward Lisbetli.

  But he had thanked her at the time. And it was only a rag doll.

  How could you have known she would become as attached to the doll as she has?

  What he wondered most was how she had known where to find them. And why she had come.

  Christian has plotted the homesteads on his map and refers to it often. Maria’s progress in the primer is gratifying, and she writes her letters on a slate each afternoon. How thoughtful of you to suggest the perfect items for both of them. I admire your tender heart.

  The last sentence was far too forward.

  I admire your tender heart.

  Now he would have to copy the letter onto fresh paper. That being the
case, Jakob supposed he might as well try out other phrases he feared to breathe.

  I find myself thinking of you often.

  I trust this finds you well. I would hate to think you are distressed.

  Would you extend your kindness to an old man by allowing him to call on you?

  I know you are not of the Amish, yet your heart touches mine.

  He couldn’t say any of those things. He drew lines of ink through the words.

  Jakob laid his pen down and stood up, rubbing his shoulder. He took three steps back. What am I thinking? She does not believe. This cannot be.

  Jakob moved to the fireplace and examined the embers. He had to leave enough burning to be able to stir up a cooking fire in the morning. Barbara had used the last log for supper. Jakob went to the door, intending to bring in enough wood for the day that would arrive in a few short hours.

  When he came back through the door, he stopped in his tracks.

  “Barbara, what are you doing up?”

  She turned to him from the table, a page in her trembling fingers.

  “Daed, why are you writing this?”

  Jakob took a breath and stepped toward the fireplace, where he deposited his load as quietly as possible. No other children need wake and hear this conversation. “That is a private letter, Barbara.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Then I ask you to respect my privacy.”

  “But you are writing to a woman. Are you going to marry her?”

  “It is only a letter. She was kind to us.”

  “Daed, I understand if you want to marry again. Many of our people marry again quickly. But you have written right here that she is not of the Amish. How can you consider this?”

  Jakob strode across the room and took the page from her hand. “Someday you will want to marry, Bar-bar. You will understand certain … feelings.”

  “Are you in lieb? Do you love her?”

  Jakob did not respond.

  “We suffered so much in Switzerland and Germany because of our faith. We came to this place—we watched Mamm die. For this?” She snatched the paper back and threw it down. “No, Daed.”