Accidentally Amish

by Olivia Newport

  “Don’t tell me what is in my heart, Christian.”

  “If you shoot a man, will you have it in your heart to repent and ask forgiveness?”

  Jakob ignored the question. “Please tell me you have prepared a place to hide. In the thicket perhaps, a dense place well away from the house where you could keep the children quiet.”

  Christian nodded. “Lizzie and I have talked about this, especially if something happens when I am away. We would never raise arms against another human being, but of course we would do all we could to avoid harm to ourselves.”

  Jacobli shifted in his saddle. “That’s not true, Christian. You would not do all you could. Would you rather see your children toma—”

  “Jacobli!” Jakob spoke sharply then lowered his voice. “Do you not see the children standing right there?”

  Christian murmured to Lizzie. She took the children and withdrew into the house. Christian closed the door and strode over to the horses.

  “You have been to our worship services,” Christian said to Jacobli. “You have many friends among our people. You know our ways. I hoped that perhaps you would be ready soon to join the church yourself.”

  Jacobli shook his head. “I’ve hunted with the Hochstetler boys. Their rifles were right next to the door when I was in their home a few hours ago. Only their father would have forbidden them to defend themselves. If I had a wife and children, if I were in the place Mr. Hochstetler was in, I believe I would make a different choice.”

  “Your conscience would be forever smeared,” Christian said.

  “Perhaps,” Jacobli said, “but my children would be alive.”

  “When everything is calm again, you will reconsider.”

  Jacobli reached for his straw hat. “I don’t believe so. May God give you grace, Christian, but I am no Amishman.” He tossed his hat on the ground. “Daed, we must find out if the Yoders are safe.”

  Forty-Five

  Ruth removed the plain glass chimney of Annie’s new lamp, turned the wick up slightly, and struck a match. The wick caught, and she replaced the glass.

  “It’s that easy,” she said.

  Annie nodded. “I guess even a techno-addict like me can learn to do that.”

  “This knob,” Ruth said, demonstrating, “controls the flame size.”

  “Got it.”

  “It’s a pretty lamp. You’ve found some real treasures in Mrs. Weichert’s store.”

  “Her store seems perfect for a hundred-year-old house. I find myself wondering what the house was like when it was built. Maybe electricity had not even come this far out from the main cities. Maybe I’m not the first owner to light a kerosene lamp in this room.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Annie had added a cozy deep red armchair and a couple of end tables to the living room. The dining table shone with Ruth’s labor of the last hour. Upstairs a new bed suited the proportions of Annie’s bedroom. In the second bedroom, Annie had a small desk and a bookcase, but the main feature was a chair that folded out to a guest bed.

  Ruth settled into the armchair. “I suppose soon you won’t have reason to run back and forth so much. I want to be sure to thank you now for helping me reconnect with my family.”

  “It was my privilege.” Annie toyed with the kerosene flame. “You’ll be back, somehow. Remember, you promised to show me what to do with my floors.”

  “It’s hard work to do yourself.”

  “Hey, I’m all about hard work.”

  Ruth saw the hesitation in Annie’s face. “It’s all right to talk about it, you know.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Mamm and me. We talked for a long time. I’m not sure she will ever accept that I am not going to be baptized into the Amish church, but she has managed to get past her hurt at how I left. I am grateful to you for that.”

  “And Rufus?” Annie asked.

  Ruth tilted her head and twisted her lips. “I’m never quite sure what you’re asking about Rufus.”

  “Is he well?”

  “You know he is.”

  “And happy?”

  “He’s happy when you’re around.”

  “That’s nonsense.” Annie fluffed a pillow on the sofa. “I have nothing to do with your brother’s happiness.”

  Ruth shifted out of her chair and put a hand on Annie’s arm. “You’ve been avoiding him. It’s all right to talk to him.”

  Annie wriggled free of Ruth’s grip to straighten papers on the coffee table. “There’s nothing to say.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  Now Annie looked at Ruth. “It’s impossible. He’s Amish to the core. And I’m … well, not.”

  “But you’re living more simply now.”

  “You know that’s not the same as being Amish. Baptized Amish is what matters. Rufus says there’s no such thing as accidentally Amish.”

  “Maybe you should think about it,” Ruth said. “Not for Rufus. I don’t mean that. But for yourself.”

  “Wow. Coming from someone who …”

  “Ran out on her baptism,” Ruth supplied. “You can say it. We both know I did it.”

  “Well yes,” Annie said. “It seems ironic that you would suggest I think about becoming Amish.”

  “It wasn’t right for me. It might be right for you.”

  “I have to take one step at a time,” Annie said. “I have so much to learn. Being around Rufus confuses me.”

  “He’s a good, good man.”

  Annie put her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around them. “Ruth, why has Rufus never married? He’s quite old, isn’t he?”

  “I suppose so, in the Amish way.”

  “Has he had his heart broken?”

  Ruth shook her head. “I don’t think he’s ever let it open far enough to break. Not until you.”

  Annie’s feet thudded to the floor. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

  “Why not find out? Hire Rufus to build some cabinets for you.”

  “I plan to.”

  “After he finishes the cabinets, ask him to build you a table for a propane lamp. It hides the canister underneath. The kerosene lamp suits your house, but no one really uses them anymore.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Then Rufus can help you with the soft spot in the kitchen floor.”

  “You’re full of ideas.” Annie tossed a pillow at Ruth. “Don’t you have homework to do?”

  “I suppose so.” Ruth caught the pillow and rolled her eyes. “What time are we going back to town?”

  “Why? Do you need some computer time?”

  “It would help.”

  “Use mine. I think it might need charging, though.” Annie moved into the dining room, picked up her laptop from the table, and pulled the cord out of her denim bag. “Whenever this place was wired, it was not for the Internet age. I only have two outlets in the living room.”

  “Maybe you can add more.”

  Annie reached behind the sofa and plugged in the laptop’s cord. “I have a feeling that would lead to having the whole place rewired. I’m leaning in the other direction.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Other sources of energy.”

  “That sounds very Amish-like.” Ruth still held the throw pillow to her chest, which warmed with an image of Annie and Rufus in this room together.

  “I called a local company,” Annie said. “They’re sending someone out to have a look around and make some suggestions. After that we can head back to the Springs.”

  “That sounds fine.”

  Annie put the computer in Ruth’s lap. “I’d like you to have this.”

  “Thanks for letting me use it.” Ruth set the pillow aside and adjusted the computer on her lap. She would have to get used to how it felt, but the convenience of it sparked something in her.

  “No, I mean have it.” Annie lowered herself to the floor next to Ruth’s knees. “I’ve been looking for the right time to give it to you.”
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br />   Ruth’s eyes widened. “You really are getting serious about changing.”

  Annie nodded, her fingers twisting in the gold chain in absentminded habit.

  “But your computer! That’s like giving me your arm.”

  “Not anymore,” Annie said. “I’ve cleared all my old business files off. It’s a good computer and not very old. You should get good use out of it until you finish school.”

  “I’m already grateful to you for so much, and now this!” Ruth’s hand moved over the sleek casing.

  “You made a hard choice that came at a cost,” Annie said. “You should at least have the tools to do what you set out to do.”

  Ruth raised the lid of the laptop, her hand trembling with the thought that it was hers.

  Annie pointed to a file icon against the blue background of the screen. “I did save some of the genealogy information. I thought you might be interested.”

  Ruth clicked open the file and scanned the documents Annie had gathered. “Do you still think about Jakob and Elizabeth? And the choices they made?”

  “All the time! I imagine what their life must have been like. I’m used to everything being comfortable and convenient. They challenge me to learn that right choices come at a cost. You help me see that, too, you know.”

  “Me? All I did was hurt people I love.”

  “You followed God’s call. And you’re working on fixing the relationships. You remind me that perhaps I can avoid that mistake if I choose well.”

  A knock on the front door diverted the moment. Annie scrambled to her feet to pull the door open.

  “Hello,” a young Amish man said. “I’m answering your inquiry for an estimate on some gas lines and a generator.”

  “Yes, come in,” Annie said. “This is my friend Ruth.”

  Ruth was on her feet, the color gone from her face.

  “Hello, Ruth,” the man said quietly.

  “Hello, Elijah.”

  Forty-Six

  June 1765

  Elizabeth held her first flesh-and-blood grandson in her arms. Jacobli’s boppli. They called him Jacob Franklin Byler. Chubby cheeks defined the shape of his face, fresh and red and squalling. She stroked the downy softness of his head. It had been a long time since she held a child only a day after birth. David, the last baby born in this house, was twenty-two.

  “I think his hair will be dark red,” she said to Jacobli, “the way yours was before it turned brown.” One of the baby’s eyes opened to a murky slit. An arm flailed loose from the swaddling. “How is Katie?”

  “Resting.” Jacobli closed the tiny fist in his own hand. “It was awful to see her in so much pain. The thought of losing her—”

  Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes, but she refused to release them. Instead, she focused on adjusting the baby’s bundling.

  “You’re thinking of Lisbet, aren’t you?” Jacobli asked.

  Wordless, Elizabeth nodded.

  “So am I,” her son said quietly.

  Somehow three years had crawled by since the day Lisbet labored. After four years of childless marriage, she was bursting with joy in the life she carried within her. The child slid easily into waiting arms, but the bleeding was too rapid, and Lisbet died without ever holding her baby. Quick Jake insisted on calling the baby Veronica, after the mother Lisbet did not remember. He did not let Elizabeth see the girl often. Before her second birthday, Veronica caught croup and stopped breathing.

  Elizabeth’s being fractured that day.

  Now Lisbet and her child lay in the earth beside Verona, and Elizabeth’s own mother-heart was a constant seeping wound. Perhaps this child, a grandson who was truly hers, would stem the flow and lead her to the future once more.

  “I’m so glad to have you and Katie here,” Elizabeth said. And she meant it. Jacobli was a grown man, married. He could have gone anywhere.

  “We wouldn’t think of leaving you.”

  The tannery, which had been a second source of income for Jakob, was Jacobli’s territory now. Over the years, he had expanded the lime vats and bark pits and learned to craft the raw leather into an array of useful items. Residents of the Northkill and Irish Creek settlements knew Jacob Byler’s leather was unmatched even in Philadelphia. They were eager to sell him their hides then buy them back in the forms of saddles and reins and satchels and shoe leather and overcoats.

  Jakob shuffled in from the kitchen. Every day, Elizabeth thought, he moved a little more slowly. She could hardly blame him. At sixty, she was slowing down herself, and he was seventy-eight. Only recently had he left the work of the farm to Joseph and David. He still presided, white haired, over the midday meal with detailed questions about the farm’s operations and was always ready with advice, but he left the physical work to his sons.

  “Can an old man hold his grandson?” Jakob asked.

  Jakob settled in next to Elizabeth, and she gently laid the child in arms long accustomed to holding the bundled shape of a baby. Pleasure crinkled his weathered face, and Elizabeth felt herself go soft at the center, just as she had all those years ago when Lisbetli clung to her father’s neck and he patiently waited for her to be ready to let go. Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to cling. Aware that she was fortunate to have her husband still with her at his age, she did not want to think of letting go. She leaned into him, laying one hand at the center of his back and scratching in that place he liked so well.

  “Christian and Lizzie are coming soon,” Jakob said. “I suppose the others will be along before much time passes, too.”

  By suppertime, Elizabeth was exhausted. Her joints did not move as nimbly as they used to. None of Jakob’s Amish children ever stayed long when they visited On this occasion, Anna was the first to come, and before she had been gone half an hour, Barbara arrived to inspect the new baby. Elizabeth welcomed them with platters of food and cool water drawn only that morning from the creek. John stayed a good part of the afternoon. Joseph and David peeked in between chores and availed themselves of the food. Sarah was the only one absent. She had planned months ago to come from Philadelphia when the baby was a month or so old. Katie remained secluded in her bedroom, only appearing at intervals to wonder what had become of her baby during these visits.

  As it turned out, Christian was the last to come, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, he came alone. Jakob was resting on their bed while Christian and Jacobli stood at the wide window gazing out on the farm as Elizabeth came and went from the kitchen, tidying up after the wave of visits.

  “I am thinking of moving to Conestoga, or perhaps Lancaster,” Christian said, staring out as he spoke. “My land is worth a good deal more than I paid for it, and I can easily get new land down there.”

  “But you’ve done so much work on your land,” Jacobli said.

  “That’s why it is worth so much.”

  “You’ll start over, then?”

  Christian nodded. “It won’t be as hard the second time. I’ll have some capital to begin with. Still, it would be easier with help. You and Katie could come with us.”

  Jacobli laughed softly. “You never give up, do you, Christian?”

  Elizabeth stacked plates left from the afternoon round of pie and carried them into the kitchen.

  “It’s good land,” Christian said, “richer soil.”

  “I’m a tanner, Christian, not a farmer. What you mean is it’s Amish land,” Jacobli said. “I’ve seen the number of families that moved out after the French-Indian War and what happened at the Hochstetlers. Conestoga is farther from the frontier. Farther from the Indians. Further from the question of bearing arms on your own land.”

  “That has nothing to do with it.” Christian put his hands on his waist, the stance he always assumed when he was about to be intractable. “If you saw the offers I have received on my land, you would understand why it is in my family’s best interest to consider them seriously.”

  “You can’t run away.” Jacobli turned from the window to look his brother in the eye. “War is co
ming. The Stamp Act. The sugar tax. This nonsense about quartering British soldiers in private homes. Those things will still be true in Conestoga.”

  “I am not running away from anything.” Now Christian crossed his arms on his chest.

  “Does it not try your patience at all to think that the Crown expects the Colonies to absorb the debt of England’s war with France?”

  “The Amish have nothing to do with any war.”

  “War will follow you,” Jacobli said. “And there will be another war.”

  “You cannot be certain of that.”

  Jacobli laughed aloud. “Perhaps living apart has insulated you too much. No one from the Colonies seems to be able to reason with Parliament. Even Benjamin Franklin got nowhere. The burden of taxes is growing too fast.”

  “We pay the same taxes anyone pays when we buy goods or file documents,” Christian said. “We have no quarrel with that.”

  Elizabeth leaned against the door frame between the kitchen and main room, listening and wanting to believe Jacobli was wrong about a coming war.

  “The time will come when the question will be far more complex,” Jacobli said. “Sam Adams has organized the Sons of Liberty in Boston, and other cities are following suit. What if the Colonies go to war against Britain? What will you do then?”

  Christian sighed heavily. “Do you ask these questions specifically to exasperate me?”

  “Everyone in the Colonies must ask these questions. Do any of us know what we will do in the event of war?”

  “The Amish will not fight. You know that. Our only concern is our own community.”

  “When the time comes, it won’t be that simple,” Jacobli said.

  Christian uncrossed his arms and put one hand out to lean against the window frame. “So you have no interest in moving? Having your own land?”

  “The tannery is a thriving business,” Jacobli said. “And I won’t go anywhere as long as Mamm and Daed are here.”

  Elizabeth caught Jacobli’s eye and smiled. Her other sons were less predictable. Jacobli was the steady one.

  “Conestoga is not as far as all that,” Christian said.