“I did not say I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t think I can do it, do you?”
“That is not for me to say.” He put his hands in pockets of the tool belt around his waist and fished out another hinge. “I hope you can live simply enough to simply leave Karl Kramer alone.”
“God’s will, as you always say.”
He shook his head. “Do not say that lightly, Annalise.”
“I don’t. I’m really, really trying to let go of managing everything my way.”
Rufus picked up the screwdriver again, saying nothing. Annie saw several identical cabinets lined up on the floor awaiting hinges and front doors. This was work his crew could perform easily, yet clearly he intended to do it himself. Did he even have a crew anymore, or had his hospitalization and recuperation forced them to look elsewhere for employment? He looked tired—tired in body and tired in spirit. She wanted to sit with him and put her arms around him, draw his head down against her. She would stroke his brown hair, his clean-shaven cheek, his muscled arm, and he would close his eyes and rest.
But it could not be.
“I brought Ruth,” she said abruptly.
He looked up at her again.
“To talk to your mother.” She met his gaze. “To try to remove whatever it is between them. She thinks you are right about that.”
Rufus set down the hinge and screwdriver then picked up a rag and wiped his hands free of the dusty evidence of his task. He repeated the motion more than necessary.
“You’re thinking of going to find them, aren’t you?” Annie crossed her arms over her chest.
Rufus tossed the rag onto the bench. “I am not sure how Mamm will respond.”
“Who is trying to control things now?”
Rufus turned up one corner of his mouth. “Not control. Just be there.”
“Can you imagine what I thought when I found you hiding in that outbuilding?” Franey did not take a single step out of the garden.
“I know,” Ruth said. “It was wrong.”
“Elijah Capp was in love with you.”
Franey’s voicing of simple fact stirred in accusation.
“I know,” Ruth said. “I was not fair to him.”
“He told his parents—our good friends—that he loved you, but he was not sure about being baptized.” Franey’s eyes fixed on Ruth.
“I told him he should not be baptized for me.” Ruth slipped off her shoes. She felt the ground soften under her toes as she edged into the garden plot. “It had to be the decision of his own heart.”
“But he thought you were going to be baptized. We all did. You took the instruction. You met with the bishop. I made you a new dress for the day. The church voted to receive you as a member—and Elijah, too. It was all set. Elijah loved you enough to put his doubts aside.”
“I never asked him to do that.” Ruth heard the breaking in her own voice.
“You didn’t try to stop him,” Franey said. “You knew what he was going to do, and you let him do it even as you planned your own escape.”
“It was not an escape, Mamm.” Ruth took several steps toward her mother down a loam-layered row. She had not felt the give of earth beneath bare feet for a year and a half.
“It certainly looked that way. You knelt with the baptismal candidates when we bowed for prayer so the bishop could ask God’s blessing on all of you. And when we opened our eyes, you were gone.”
A sob rattled up through Ruth, forcing its way through her throat with a gasp.
“When they saw you were gone, no one would disturb the solemn occasion for the other candidates.” Franey barely opened her mouth to speak now. “Certainly not Elijah. He was the first. The bishop came to him and poured the water on his head. Elijah made his promises, but you were gone. He sacrificed everything for you, and you spit on his sacrifice!”
“It was not that way.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“Elijah knew I had doubts. He knew I believed the Bible and trusted God, but he also knew I wanted to be a nurse. I couldn’t choose!”
“But you did choose.” Franey threw her shovel down and pointed at Ruth. “Afterwards, when we should have been rejoicing in your baptism and celebrating that you joined the church, we were tearing up the farm looking for you. Your father and I had no words for anyone. I’ll never forget the way Mrs. Capp stared at me. What could I say? I could barely congratulate Elijah. He looked for you, too, you know.”
Ruth swallowed hard. “No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry I put you all through that. I should have just told you what I was doing. I corresponded with the university for months about how I could meet their requirements without a high school diploma. I didn’t run on a moment’s whim.”
“I know it was no whim, because you arranged a ride with that English man who takes people to Pueblo.”
“I knew I could get a bus in Pueblo.”
“You were hiding in that shed. You had a suitcase. He knew exactly where to pick you up. The only thing you didn’t plan was for your mudder to find you first.”
Ruth felt a hand on her shoulder. She leaned back against the solid form of her brother. She knew then she could finish this conversation. Annie was beside her when the rain started in earnest.
“I didn’t know until the last minute that I would really go.” Tears flowed with rain down Ruth’s face. “I didn’t know what to say to you or Elijah or anyone.”
“So you said nothing.” Franey’s voice barely rose above the patter from the sky.
“I would choose differently now,” Ruth said. “I would tell you. I want to tell you now.”
“Others have left, you know. You were not baptized. People would have understood. You would not have been shunned.”
Rufus squeezed Ruth’s shoulders, and Annie slipped a hand into Ruth’s.
“Mamm,” Rufus said, “I think Ruth is saying she’s sorry.”
“I want you to forgive me,” Ruth pleaded, “for the way I left.”
“Are you repenting?” Franey’s question had an edge to it.
“I was thinking of myself, and that was wrong. I do repent of my selfishness.”
“But not for leaving.”
“Leaving was the right choice for me. I truly believe God wants me to be a trained nurse. I want to obey God’s will.”
“God’s will.” Franey gripped her basket with both hands now. “It’s hard to argue when someone claims to know God’s will in the matter.”
The rain cast a shiver through Ruth. She squeezed Annie’s hand.
“Mamm,” Rufus said, “It’s raining. Let’s go inside and talk.”
Lightning cracked the sky just as they reached the shelter of the porch, but they were drenched already. Inside, Franey said nothing to anyone. She handed them towels, disappeared for a few minutes, then sent everyone upstairs for dry clothing.
Annie opened Ruth’s bedroom door and stared at two simple dresses lying across the Tumbling Blocks quilt, one blue and one purple.
With a nervous smile, she turned to Ruth, who was right behind her. “Your mother did this.”
Ruth let her breath out hard. “I’m not sure what she means.”
“I’ve had that purple dress on before, you know.” Annie picked up the dress.
“It looks like you’re going to wear it again,” Ruth said. “You won’t find any dry jeans hiding around here.”
“You can help me do it right this time.” Annie held the dress against herself. “How about you? Will it feel strange to wear one of your old dresses?”
Ruth picked up the blue dress and held it in front of her at arm’s length. “It’s just until we can get our clothes dry. Perhaps it will reassure Mamm that I have not turned my heart away from God.”
“And this one will tell Rufus I can make changes that take me closer to God.”
Forty-Four
September 1757
Elizabeth wrapped both hands around her cup of steaming coffee and shared a corner of the tabl
e with Lisbet. Jakob and David were out milking cows. She had called once already for the others to come down to breakfast, but she relished the thought of a few moments alone with Lisbet, so she was not disappointed at their sluggish response.
“Tell me everything.” Elizabeth leaned forward on her elbows. “It was the middle of the night when you and Jacobli got home.”
“I’ve been going to apple schnitzing bees at the Hochstetlers’ for years,” Lisbet said, “but this was the most fun.”
“Was Quick Jake Kauffmann there?”
Lisbet nodded, her eyes glowing. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Elizabeth smiled and set her coffee down.
“We’re going to announce our engagement as soon as the harvest is in.” Lisbet reached across the table and gripped Elizabeth’s hand. “I really want you to be at my wedding in November. I can’t get married without you, and I want to have my wedding in my own home.”
Elizabeth unsuccessfully tried to swallow the knot in her throat. “I’ll try, Lisbetli. I’ll talk to Daed.” Jakob did business with the neighbors and gave assistance when he could. But he had not been to a church event in all the years of their marriage, not even the weddings of his own children.
“I want all of my family there,” Lisbet emphasized. “I wish …”
“You’re thinking of Maria, aren’t you?”
Lisbet nodded, tears springing to her eyes. “She should have been next, after Christian. Now we don’t even know where she is.”
“I’m sure she thinks of you often.”
“If she didn’t want to be baptized, she didn’t have to …” Lisbet set her mug down hard. “Why did she think she had to run off like that?”
Elizabeth shook her head. She had no answer.
Lisbet swallowed her sorrow and forced a smile. “And Jacobli had better behave himself at my wedding.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “What did he do last night?”
“He was supposed to be peeling apples, but he gave Mrs. Hochstetler conniption fits by cutting faces into the apples and giving them names. Once they had names and faces, no one wanted to cut them up or crush them for cider.”
“That sounds like my Jacobli.”
“Then the Hochstetler boys started doing it. Mrs. Hochstetler took away their knives and sent them all outside.”
Elizabeth gestured to the generous basket of apples and peaches gracing her table. “Are there any faces in this bunch you brought home?”
Lisbet laughed. “Mrs. Hochstetler threw the faces in the cider press herself before they could turn brown.”
“How many bushels did you put out for drying?”
Lisbet shrugged. “I lost count. They just kept coming, so we kept peeling and paring. Their peaches are ripe, too, so that will be the next harvest. Jacobli is already scheming about what he can do with peaches.”
Elizabeth tried to picture her eldest son frolicking with the Amish young adults. He was eighteen and attended their church services frequently, though not regularly. John had been a few times also but seemed less interested. Or perhaps the difference was that Jacobli could get along with just about anyone and John was more particular. So far, to Elizabeth’s relief, Jacobli had said nothing about being baptized and joining the Amish church—though Christian and Lizzie raised the question frequently. He simply seemed to enjoy friendship with the neighbors. Jacobli’s recent habit of wearing Amish clothing unsettled her, however. He hardly took off his straw hat anymore, as if he were trying on a choice.
Lisbet giggled again. “Mrs. Hochstetler kept making jokes about how many schnitz pies she would have to eat over the winter to keep her weight up.”
“She’s fatter than any woman in the valley!” Elizabeth said.
“Because she makes the best schnitzboi in the valley, too.”
“The next time you see her, thank her for the basket she sent home with you. We’ll have a feast for breakfast today.” Elizabeth stood up and headed for the stairs. “I’d better get those sleepy heads up once and for all.”
She stood at the base of the stairs and called her children’s names one by one.
A deep, hoarse voice joined her with more urgency. “Jacobli! John! Joseph! Come down immediately.”
“Jakob, what’s wrong?” Elizabeth spun to face her husband who was standing in the door. David was right behind him.
“Where are the boys? Jacob! John! Now! David, bolt the door.”
The bolt thudded into place almost immediately.
“Jakob!” Elizabeth said again. She could count on one hand the number of times she had heard her husband raise his voice in the last nineteen years.
The weight of boys in men’s bodies tested the stairs as Jacob, John, and Joseph thundered down in a gangly knot of arms and legs.
“Make sure you bring Sarah,” Jakob boomed, and the girl appeared at the top of the stairs.
Jakob was at the mantel now, pulling rifles off racks and stuffing them with gunpowder. He slapped one Brown Bess musket into Jacobli’s hand and the next one into John’s.
“Jakob!” Elizabeth put a hand on his arm. “I must insist you tell me what is going on. Why has it become so urgent to go hunting before breakfast?”
“We’re not going hunting,” Jakob said, putting a gun into Joseph’s hands.
“But—”
“They shot John Miller in the hand,” Jakob said rapidly, “while he was swinging an ax like he does every morning. Like we all do every day. Just chopping wood.”
“Who would want to hurt John Miller?”
“We’ve lived in this valley for twenty years, most of them peaceful,” Jakob said. “The Indians never bothered us until this ridiculous war between the French and the British. First the British build a fort in Northkill, and now the French have the Lenni Lenape shooting at us.”
“But surely, Jakob—”
“Lisbet,” Jakob snapped, “what time did you and Jacob leave the Hochstetlers’ last night?”
“Late. After midnight. Once we finished with the apples, most of us stayed around talking or singing.”
“Daed,” Jacobli said, “what does that have to do with why you are handing out guns?”
“Or John Miller’s hand?” Elizabeth added.
“The Indians took advantage of the moonless night.” Jakob stood a rifle on its heel, gripped the steel shaft with both hands, and looked around the room. “You’re all old enough to hear this. They attacked the Hochstetlers. I suspect it was not long after everyone left. By God’s grace, you were gone already. The Indians set fire to the house. By the time neighbors saw the flames and got over there, it was too late to save anything—or anybody. The Hochstetlers crawled out through a cellar window, but nobody could get close enough to help, not even when Mrs. Hochstetler was stuck in the window.”
Elizabeth and Lisbet exchanged glances, regretting the banter about Mrs. Hochstetler’s size.
“The Indians found them trying to hide. Mrs. Hochstetler was stabbed to death and scalped. One boy and the girl were tomahawked. Hochstetler and the other boys are missing. The neighbors saw the Indians ride off with them—after they torched every building on the land. Even their married son had to watch from across the field and could do nothing.”
Elizabeth sank into the nearest chair. Sarah threw herself into her mother’s arms. “What are you planning to do, Jakob?”
“I plan to assure myself that my children and grandchildren are safe. I’ll ride all day if I have to. Jacobli and John, you’re coming with me. Joseph and David, you’re staying here. I know you’re all good shots.”
“Jakob, what are you saying?” Elizabeth could not believe her ears.
“We’ve never shot at anything we did not intend to eat,” Joseph said.
“They are still boys.” Elizabeth’s pitch rose. “You cannot ask them to do this.”
Jakob laid his hands on Joseph’s shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “You’re fifteen. We’ve raised you to follow your conscience. I
hope you don’t have to do anything at all, but if you do, I know it will be right.” He turned to David, a year younger. “That goes for you, too.”
Elizabeth rose. “I’ve heard rumors that Mrs. Hochstetler was not always kind to the Indians who came to her looking for food. Perhaps they chose her in particular. Perhaps the danger is past.”
“I want to know my children are safe,” Jakob said. “Christian and the girls’ husbands—they would do what I suspect Hochstetler did. That man had guns in his house, and he knew how to use them. Why is his family slaughtered as if they did not have the means to defend themselves?” Jakob picked up his own rifle and stuffed his pockets with gunpowder packets and lead. “Bolt the door and stay away from the windows. If there’s any danger, go out through the tunnel from the cellar. And take the guns.”
Jakob and two of his sons rode their horses hard. He allowed himself a moment of relief when Christian’s house came into view and appeared unharmed but pressed on to see for himself that Christian, Lizzie, and their three small children were alive.
He swung off his horse just as Christian swung open the door to his home.
“I see you’ve heard the news.” Christian’s eyes went to his father’s gun. “You don’t seriously think that using a rifle is going to solve anything.”
“Is your family safe?” Jakob asked.
“We are unharmed, if that is what you mean.”
Lizzie appeared behind her husband, baby Magdalena in her arms and Christli and Veronica clutching her skirts. The sight of his grandchildren slowed Jakob’s heart rate.
“What if it had been your farm, Christian?” Jacobli asked.
“But it was not,” Christian retorted.
“What if it were?”
“Our lives are in God’s hands,” Christian answered.
“I imagine that is what Hochstetler said to his screaming wife and children,” Jakob said.
“They would not have been screaming,” Christian answered calmly. “They knew they were in God’s hands as well.”
“I’m not certain this is God’s way.”
“Daed, in all these years, I have never heard you sound so English,” Christian said. “In your heart, you are Amish. You cannot possibly be thinking of doing this.”
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