by Leslie Gould
I’d never dreamt I’d leave. The day I’d been baptized had been the happiest day of my life. I truly believed the second would be the day I married Silas. But then everything changed.
After I left, I stood firm. I read each letter and then put them in the trash.
Now, as I drove, I prepared myself for what the Bann would mean. I wouldn’t be able to sit at the kitchen table with my family. I wouldn’t be able to sleep in my old bed in the room I’d shared with my sisters. But at least I would be able to stay in my family home. And I would be able to attend my father’s funeral.
A sob shook me. Jah, it was easy to try to ignore that I would live the rest of my life under the Bann when I was living in a completely different world, but going home I’d have to face it and deal with it as best I could and with as much grace as I could possibly muster.
During the hour-long drive south to our family farm, near the community of Leacock, I thought through what my shunning would look like in the next couple of days. I vacillated between denial and gut-wrenching grief. One minute I’d think my father’s passing was a cruel joke intended to get me to come home, and the next minute I’d be wailing in despair.
Especially when I had no clear understanding what Arden’s plan for the Bachmann land might be now that Dat was gone. Unfortunately I had a pretty good guess.
My heart lurched as I slowed, shifted down into fourth gear, and then turned down the Oak Road toward the historic Bachmann Bavvahrei.
I shivered. Farm. It had been a while since a Pennsylvania Dutch word had slipped through. Three years ago all my thoughts were in my mother tongue. It was amazing how quickly I’d adjusted to speaking English and thinking in it all the time.
I refocused on the landscape. The cold blustery days of March had always been Dat’s favorite time of year. He said he felt an affinity with the unseen life growing under the decay of winter, despite the threat of hail, blizzards, and even tornados. I shared his sentiments. Even now I could make out new shoots of growth in the field between the rail fence and the windbreak of fir trees.
Generations of Bachmanns had farmed our land, beginning in 1752 with Walter Bachmann. Dat had mentioned him a few times, and I could imagine the joy Walter had felt when he acquired this particular piece of farmland.
Of all of Dat’s five children, I loved the land with a passion like his, which I imagined matched someone from each generation for the last 259 years. My half brother, Arden, lived with his family on the west side of the property and farmed with Dat, but he didn’t love the land or the crops or the animals. His purpose was earning enough to support his family, which was a worthy cause in itself, but it still infuriated me. Of the many things that inspired me to leave the Amish, Arden’s views toward the farm was one. Now I feared that with Dat gone, he might sell out to a gas company or a corporate farm, or overwork the land for a larger profit, or sell off a section to a developer.
I’d held on too tightly to my beliefs about the land back then, and finally realized my defeat and gave up altogether. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord. The words tumbled through my head—ones I’d surely hear over and over in the next few days. But God hadn’t taken the farm from me. I had chosen to leave.
Regardless of the circumstances, my heart swelled involuntarily at the thought of being back on the land. Nothing screamed home to me like our farm. I thought of the vast universe, the blue ball of Earth spinning in space, then North America, the state of Pennsylvania, Lancaster County, and finally our 140 acres. I imagined myself flying over it in a plane and seeing the way the green fields, bordered with strips of plowed earth and trees, would appear like a crazy quilt. I doubted there was anywhere on the planet as beautiful and fertile as Lancaster County.
The field gave way to pasture, spotted by Holstein cows. A group huddled together under the oak tree in the middle. One raised her head and stared at me. My heart lurched at the sight. I’d missed it all—the land, the animals, the crops, the oak tree, the woods on the far side near the highway. Even the mud, which this time of year covered nearly everything.
I shifted into third and rounded the corner. The old sprawling farmhouse with the wraparound front porch came into view. What was now the enclosed back porch of the farmhouse had once been part of the original log cabin. Of course the house had been added to many times over the years. One wing and then another. A second floor. A front porch. A sunroom. It spread out in every direction. It was so big we could have easily squeezed in Arden’s family of seven, but it was better they had their own place on the other side of the farm. His kids were fine—it was Arden and his wife, Vi, who had made my life miserable, along with the new bishop. And then my sister Marie too.
Plus my mother, but that hadn’t changed in any way. She’d been critical of me for as long as I could remember.
The memory made me cringe, and I slowed even more. I was visiting—not returning. My apartment, smaller than the farmhouse’s back porch, was now home to me. It’s what I’d chosen.
I focused on the land again. On the left side of the lane, bale tubes of silage covered the edge of the field. A sheltie I didn’t recognize ran along the fence line, barking at my car. On the right side of the lane, cows and horses huddled near the oak tree. A colt bounded away from its mother.
How could Dat be gone? The pasture. The animals. The crops. All of them screamed Dat to me. He was the gentle farmer. The caretaker. God’s steward.
A sob shook me, and I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
He was only sixty-seven. Much too young to die. I’d been sure he’d live another twenty years at least, providing plenty of time to sort out our differences.
I concentrated on the house again. The porch skirt above the foundation needed to be painted. Most likely the task was on the list of projects for summer. Along with pruning the trees along the side of the house. Beyond them, I could see that the barn roof needed to be repaired. In fact, overall, the property looked much shabbier than I remembered. I reminded myself that Dat had been ill for the last few months, but all of those jobs should have been done last fall. Perhaps he hadn’t been feeling well even then, but if so, Arden should have taken charge.
Leisel, wearing a black dress and apron, stepped out onto the front porch. Already a collection of buggies was parked around the barn. I hadn’t thought of the houseful of neighbors ready to help with meals and chores.
I parked my car at the edge of the driveway and dabbed at my tears. Leisel came down the steps, pulling a black shawl tight around her shoulders. She walked with what seemed like confidence mixed with fatigue. She’d always looked a little like a pixie—fair skin, blond hair, grayish eyes. And petite. Marie and I appeared to be giants next to her.
We had been the Bachmann sisters, the three of us born in just three years. Loyal to each other above all, through thick and thin. Marie and Leisel had been my best friends all of my life, until things turned sour about five months before I left Lancaster. Up until then, we’d gone everywhere together. Singings. Outings. Volleyball games. We were protective of each other. Caring of others. And bound together as only sisters can be.
I opened the car door, grabbed my purse, and climbed out, patting my coat pocket to make sure my phone was still there. It was.
I took a step in the gravel, my low-heeled pumps rocking a little with the movement. Leisel tugged the shawl even tighter as she came toward me. At the sight of her red-rimmed eyes, another sob shook me. She was in my arms before I could control myself, and I patted her back reflexively as we both cried. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my words slipping through as the intensity of my sadness grew.
She tightened her grip on me. Over her shoulder I could see our mother in the doorway, but then she turned and disappeared back into the house. I searched for Dat’s sister, Aenti Suzanne, but I didn’t see her. She would be my ally, I was sure. At least I hoped so.
Thankfully there was no sight of Arden. I’d count my blessings, no matt
er how small.
“Has anyone called Amos?” I whispered. He was Arden’s identical twin, the first prodigal in the family to leave, sixteen years ago when I was just six.
“None of us knows his phone number,” Leisel said.
“Dat didn’t tell you?” I knew he kept in touch with Amos.
She shook her head. “He planned to. We talked about it. We all thought Dat would live another month, at least a few more weeks. But he went so quickly. Everything changed two days ago.”
I could only hope someone had planned to let me know Dat was ill, so I could have come to say good-bye. But I wouldn’t think of that now. Amos and I had both brought shame to Dat, although he never put that on us. Others certainly did though, doubly because Dat was a deacon.
“Maybe Amos’s information is in Dat’s desk.” I pulled away from Leisel and started toward the house. “We can look.”
Leisel nodded and fell into step beside me, taking hold of my arm. The wind whipped the skirt of her dress and the ties of her Kapp, tugging at her hair beneath it. We stepped together, entwined in the grief that connected us.
At first I thought the sound behind me was the wind. But the second time, I couldn’t deny someone had spoken my name.
“Jessie.”
And I knew who said it. He made my name sound like music.
I turned.
Silas came toward me slowly, his straw hat in his hand, his dark hair a little long over his eyebrows. The sleeves of his forest green shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and he wore no coat or vest. His hazel eyes reflected kindness, even after the way I’d left him. “Jessie.” He was the only one who called me that. “You’re here.”
I hesitated for a moment, remembering our past and then the clean scent of his Mamm’s soap, mixed with the sweat of hard work on his skin. I remembered how I’d felt when he’d held me, when he’d kissed me under the oak tree.
“Jah, I am here,” I finally answered as another sob overtook me.
2
Silas stared at me for a long moment. I couldn’t help but notice the bones of his face appeared more chiseled and his shoulders wider than three years ago. Yet he was still lean and wiry.
I dropped my gaze, brushing away my tears as I did.
“How about some coffee?” Leisel proposed. “And a sticky bun? Marie and Gail made them.” She gave Silas a pointed look that confused me. Gail was Marie’s best friend. She was kind and gentle—and very beautiful with her thick dark hair. After her parents moved to Ohio, Dat had told me, she was staying at our house quite a bit. She’d moved in with her older sister, but she seemed to prefer staying with our family. I wasn’t surprised. She’d fit in—much better than I had. She was the daughter Mamm had always wished I had been. Domestic. Compliant. Conscious of her appearance.
As Leisel steered me toward the steps, the curtain in the living room window fluttered a little. For a split second I could make out Marie’s face, and I guessed Gail’s too. I scanned the empty porch. Mamm and Dat’s white rocking chairs were positioned in the exact spot they were when I left. I gulped at the sight of Dat’s. Beyond it was the picnic table where we often ate on summer evenings. I’d been told I’d learned to walk on the porch, Amos at my side. After those first steps, it was difficult to keep me inside. All I wanted was to be a Bavvah. That was before I understood that women weren’t farmers, at least not in our community.
Silas stepped forward to open the front door, and Leisel led the way through it. It smelled the same as always. Lemon polish. Freshly baked bread. The faint scent of kerosene.
The open floor plan meant I could see into the dining area and then the kitchen from the living room. No one sat at the long oak table, but several women stood around the island in the kitchen. I hoped Aenti Suz was in the huddle, but after a moment I could see she wasn’t.
My mother’s back was to me. She was tall and thin with perfect posture and impossible not to spot. She turned toward me.
In a firm voice she said, “I can’t believe you came.”
“I called her,” Leisel answered before I could.
Mamm inhaled, wrinkled her nose, and then turned her back toward me. She hadn’t changed in three years—not in looks or behavior.
“Bethel . . .” I couldn’t tell who spoke my mother’s name.
My mother shrugged in response.
The speaker stepped forward and said, “Can I get you some coffee?” It was Silas’s mother, Edith.
“Please.” I could use a shot of caffeine.
A minute later I took the mug from Edith. She’d aged in the last three years, and her hair was completely gray now. She was much older than my Mamm. Silas was an unexpected baby, who arrived after his parents had given up all hope of ever having children. I was my mother’s second child, born when she was in her late twenties.
Edith smiled at me warmly. I’d thought for years she would be my mother-in-law, and I’d always adored her.
Leisel stepped into the kitchen, but Silas stopped in the living room.
The coffee was too hot to drink so I couldn’t busy myself with that. Finally I turned toward the table, deciding I would sit down. By myself.
As I did, I realized that Gail had stepped to Silas’s side. The two were arm to arm, practically touching. She gazed up at him with loving eyes. As I stared, the mug slipped from my hand. In slow motion, I jumped back as the hot coffee splashed all around me, splattering the white wall. Next the mug hit the hardwood floor and shattered. The ceramic bounced and flew into smaller pieces and then settled on the floor with a clatter.
“Oh dear.” Edith was already at my side, pulling a kitchen towel from her shoulder. “Are you burned?”
“No,” I gasped. “Just embarrassed.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. I wasn’t sure for what. The coffee spilling? That I was such a klutz? That her son was courting someone else?
What had I expected? It was three years since I left. He could easily have married in that time. Easily have been a father by now.
How self-centered of me to have expected life in Lancaster County to have frozen in time when I moved to Harrisburg. Had I thought I could come back and pick up where I’d left off?
Leisel approached with a rag. I took it from her and sank to my knees, mopping up the coffee as Edith picked up the bigger pieces of the mug. “Careful,” she said. “We’ll have to sweep.”
I nodded, keeping my head down, avoiding eye contact with Silas or Gail. Edith retreated to the kitchen, leaving the towel on the floor. Someone approached, and then Silas knelt beside me and picked up the towel. Footsteps fell toward the front door. I raised my head to see Gail slip outside.
“Go after her,” I said to Silas.
He shook his head and continued to work in silence, the muscles of his arm contracting as he picked up the smaller pieces. Now that he was close to me, in the house, I could make out the scent of the homemade soap on him—and something more. The spring wind? The warm soil? He loved the land as much as I did, yet his family only had ten acres. Part was in pasture, which allowed them to raise a few steers each year. His Mamm grew vegetables, herbs, and flowers that she sold during the summer and then dried more to sell throughout the year. Ten acres was not enough to make any kind of living, but they managed because Silas earned a good living by helping my family farm our land.
I ducked my head, surprised at how drawn I felt to him. Tears stung my eyes again, and I concentrated on the last of the pieces, picking them up and then dropping them in the bin Edith had positioned by my side. She stood poised with both a broom and mop to finish the job.
Once Silas and I finished, I headed into the kitchen and washed my hands at the sink. When I finished, Leisel handed me another cup of coffee. I tightened my grip on it as I heard my mother say, “We don’t need this. You’ve been gone three years. Why would you come back now to stir up trouble?”
“That’s not my intention. It was never my intention.”
Mamm shook her head. �
��It was—it appeared to be from the start.”
I winced. Her oldest child, also a girl, died the day after I was born. Mamm and I were still in the hospital when it happened. It seemed she’d never forgiven me for it. Dat always told me to ignore it as best I could. “Your Mamm’s never gotten over her grief,” he explained.
Mamm definitely had her favorites. Out of her two stepsons, she despised Amos and adored Arden. Just like she adored Marie. For a long time, even though she criticized me, it seemed perhaps she could tolerate me, until I brought her shame.
“Finish your coffee, then be on your way,” Mamm said.
There was no way I’d leave so soon. I needed to find out what Dat’s last wishes were and what Arden intended to do with the land. I needed to let Amos know Dat had passed. I needed, if possible, to mourn my father with my family. I left the kitchen without answering my mother and headed to Dat’s study. The room was just as I remembered it. Meticulously organized business ledgers filled a bookcase on the left wall. On adjacent shelves were bottles of herbs, vitamins, and supplements that he dispensed to friends, relatives, and friends of friends. He was a self-taught healer. He only charged for the cost of the products, never for the knowledge he’d accumulated. Although I’d asked several times, he never told me how he knew so much about healing beyond that he’d read a lot of books through the years.
To my right was the large picture window that overlooked the side yard. I stopped in front of it. Gail and Marie were huddled together between the apple trees, my sister looking as if she was comforting her friend. It was the first I’d seen Marie. She’d grown even prettier since I’d left.
I expected Silas would join Marie and Gail soon enough. I continued on toward the desk, hoping neither of the girls saw me through the glass.
