A Plain Leaving

by Leslie Gould

  Fifteen minutes later, Ruby helped Mamm to the table. She guessed Zachary was helping Hans load the rest of his family’s belongings, which had been stored in the barn for the last week, into their wagon. Hans’s eight children ranged in age from three to nineteen. They were excited for a new beginning in Canada.

  As she fed Mamm a bowl of porridge, Ruby kept glancing out the window at the activity in the side yard. Every once in a while she could make out Paul’s voice. Mostly, she heard Hans giving orders.

  After Mamm took her last bite, she said, “Go on out.”

  “I’ll help you to the front porch first,” Ruby responded. “You can sit and watch.”

  “Denki,” Mamm said. “I appreciate it.” Despite her illness, she hadn’t lost her sweet spirit.

  They shuffled across the planed floor that Dat had nailed down a decade ago. Ruby had been eight and remembered it well. It was the first big expansion of their home, and it had turned the cabin into a house, one of the largest in the area. Of course, Ruby would never say it out loud—it would be seen as prideful—but she secretly hoped she and Paul would be blessed with a home as fine as Mamm and Dat had.

  When they reached the porch, she helped Mamm to sit in her rocker, and then returned for a quilt to wrap around her, even though the morning was already warm. When she returned, Paul stood on the porch beside Mamm, telling her good-bye, along with Hans and Daniel and their families.

  Ruby’s heart swelled as she tucked the quilt around her mother’s legs.

  “Go on now,” Mamm said to Ruby, her eyes sparkling. “You and Paul need to say your good-byes in quiet.”

  Ruby followed him around the side of the house to where his wagon was hitched with his Mamm sitting on the bench like a queen in her carriage. He stopped. Ruby longed for a bit of privacy but didn’t say anything. Tears filled her eyes.

  He gazed down at her. “There’s no need for sadness,” he said. “We’ll be together soon enough.”

  A tear escaped, and then another. She’d told herself she wouldn’t cry. He was right. She would be with him soon. In the meantime she needed to serve her Mamm well, caring for her the best she could, helping her to grow strong enough to travel.

  He kissed the top of her Kapp, a rare display of affection for him, as Hans yelled, “Time to go!”

  “Good-bye,” Paul said, releasing her quickly. He seemed anxious to go, which left her with an emptiness inside. She yearned for a longer hug, for a real kiss. For loving words. But that wasn’t Paul’s way. Still, she knew he would be a good husband, father, and provider. And a strong leader in their community in Canada.

  He stepped toward his wagon and climbed up to the bench, next to his mother.

  Ruby’s heart lurched as the seven families from their congregation rolled forward. Hans turned onto the road. No one in his family or Daniel’s glanced back at Mamm on the porch or the old place, but Paul did turn once and gave Ruby a final nod. Her heart swelled as she waved, reaching to the sky, but then he repositioned himself on the bench to face forward, and her hand remained suspended in the air for a long moment, then fell to her side.

  Commotion across the fence distracted her from watching Paul turn onto the road, followed by a shout from a distance. She couldn’t tell at first what was said, but then a man yelled, “Out of my garden!”

  Old Man Wallis lived next door. He was Scottish and had been sympathetic toward the Paxton boys, who murdered twenty-one Indians from Conestoga Town back in 1763. Ruby had been seven then, but she remembered Dat and Mamm’s horror over the incident. The Indians were peaceful and owned a deed from William Penn. Old Man Wallis supported the killings, believing the lie that the Conestoga aided other tribes in raiding and burning the homes of settlers. Mennonites had tried to help save the Indians, and the Amish were horrified by what had happened. Being neighborly to Old Man Wallis had been a challenge ever since.

  “Git!” It didn’t sound like Old Man Wallis. The voice was much younger.

  Ruby glanced around for Zachary, guessing the ruckus had to do with the calf. When she didn’t see her brother, she hurried to the fence, shading her eyes.

  The half-grown beast was in what was left of the neighbor’s garden, tromping through the corn and squash. Ruby yelled for Zach, but when he didn’t reply, she climbed over the rail fence, lifting her skirt and apron, and started through the dewy pasture. The expansive oak Bohm on the Wallis’s property was a silhouette against the low morning sun.

  Again a man yelled, and the calf began to bawl. Ruby came around the tree. A tall, thin man with reddish hair and fiery brown eyes held a crutch high in the air, trying to get the calf to move. Instead it stood wide-legged and bawling.

  Ruby began to run, wishing she’d grabbed a rope. “I’ll get him,” she called out in English. Even though they spoke a Swiss-German dialect at home, Dat had insisted all of his children learn English.

  The man turned toward her. He was much younger than Old Man Wallis, probably in his mid-twenties or so, and wore woolen trousers and a vest over a fancy shirt. “Who are you?” he barked.

  She wanted to snarl back at the man, but she heeded her manners. “Ruby Bachmann,” she answered. “My family owns the farm next door.”

  He grunted and then limped toward the calf, raising the crutch again when he stopped, yelling as he did.

  Ruby reached the garden and yelled at the calf, too, flapping her apron as well. The calf cut to the left, stepping on a pumpkin. Ruby leaped closer, dropped her apron, and reached for his head. She grabbed it with both arms and held on, but the calf jerked, snorting as he did. She slipped and, still hanging on to him, slid in the mud at the edge of the garden. She caught herself before she fell, but the mud caked her boots and the hem of her skirt. Old Man Wallis had a spring on the other side of the garden, which fed a pond out in the field. Obviously the spring needed to be tended—most likely the stone brim around it had been damaged. Soon enough the rains would come and all the farms would be muddy, but with such fine weather there was no reason for a muddy garden now.

  The man slung a rope off his shoulder.

  She tried her best to keep hold of the squirming animal.

  The man stepped closer and managed to slip the rope over the calf’s head. He held on to it as Ruby let go, but the animal lurched and pulled the man down. The calf jerked the rope out of his hand, headed in the opposite direction of the Bachmanns’ property.

  Ruby lunged for the rope, and this time she landed in the mud. However, she managed to grab hold of the rope and yank on it as the twisted hemp burned both of her hands. The calf bawled in protest but then stopped and stared at her, as if waiting for his next opportunity to bolt.

  The man managed to stand and then crutched his way to her side and extended his free hand to her as he sank his crutch in the mud to brace himself. She was so annoyed with him that she hesitated to take it, but she’d have a hard time extracting herself from the mud any other way. Her dress and apron were nearly covered, as were her hands and arms.

  Reluctantly, she took his hand, trying not to pull too hard and upset his balance, and managed to stand. She wiped her muddy hands, one at a time, on her apron. Keeping her eyes downcast, she muttered, “Thank you.”

  He nodded curtly. “Now keep that beast away from here.”

  Annoyed, she answered, “I’ll return the rope.”

  “No need to. Leave it on the fence,” he said. “I’ll retrieve it later.”

  “Speaking of the fence . . .” Ruby replied. This time she met his eyes. “My brother will repair it.”

  “I expected as much.” The man’s gaze fell toward the Bachmanns’ farm. “That was quite a caravan that took off this morning. I’m surprised you have any brothers left.”

  Her face warmed, even in the cool air. “One stayed, along with my Mamm.”

  “And where are the rest headed?”

  Tears threatened her eyes. “Canada.”

  “Oh.” The word fell flat. “Loyalists then.”


  She nodded. “They made a pledge to the king.”

  He exhaled. “Yes, didn’t we all? Some of us were just wee ones, but still . . .”

  Ruby didn’t answer, wondering how he’d injured his leg. “Who are you?” she blurted out.

  “Duncan Wallis.” He nodded toward the neighbor’s house. “I’m James Wallis’s nephew.”

  “Oh,” she said, wondering what his politics might be. She guessed the old man was a Patriot. Perhaps Duncan was too. Maybe he injured his leg fighting for the rebels.

  “It seems you had a hard good-bye this morning,” he said, changing the topic back to his previous observation.

  She guessed he’d been spying on her and Paul. The man was as rude as his uncle.

  Ruby yanked on the calf and trudged around the garden, toward the lane, pulling the beast along, without saying good-bye. She felt the man’s eyes on her as she marched along.

  As she neared her family’s farmhouse, the thunder of hooves coming from the opposite direction as Hans, Paul, and the others had traveled startled her. The calf bawled and then lurched. She held on tight, wincing at her burning hands, as a band of a dozen or so Patriots, wearing mismatched uniforms, came into view.

  She rushed toward the property past the porch as she held up a finger to her lips in response to her mother’s concern, and then around the cabin with the calf. Zachary stood at the woodpile, an axe in his hand. “Patriots,” she said. “Hide!”

  He swung the axe into the stump and then stood straight, shaking his head. “No,” he said, “They’re with the 1st Regiment. I’ll go speak with them.”

  “Zachary, that’s ridiculous. I’ll go tell them all of my brothers have left.”

  “That would be a lie,” he said. “Put the calf away. And then see to Mamm.” He smiled at her. “After you wash up.” He marched determinedly away from her as the thunder of the hooves came to a halt in front of the Bachmann farmhouse.

  5

  Jessica

  It took a moment for me to realize the knocking noise came from the front door of Aenti Suz’s Dawdi Haus and not from 1777.

  “Excuse me,” Aenti Suz said, putting her empty mug on the doily on the end table.

  She opened the door. A boy held a straw hat in his hands. He squinted a little into the living room. I stood. Was it Milton? Arden’s oldest son? My nephew had been eleven when I left—which meant he was fourteen now. Done with school. Doing a man’s work. Most likely taking over for Dat. Milton loved the land. At least he had three years ago.

  He stood taller than Aenti Suz, and he had that almost-a-man look with his broad shoulders, deep voice, and the acne sprinkled across his face.

  “I heard Jessica’s home,” Milton said to Aenti Suz.

  “She is.” My aunt swept her arm wide. “Come on in. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No,” Milton answered. “I’ve got to figure out how to get the tractor working.” He squinted again. I was sitting under the window and perhaps the light was making it hard for him to see. “Is that you?” he asked.

  I stood. “Jah, Milton, it’s me.” I wanted to give him a hug but feared it would be too forward.

  He moved his hat from one hand to the other and then back. Poor boy. He was nervous. My heart hurt, wondering what Arden and Vi had been telling their children about me the last few years. I’d heard all the things they’d said about Amos. It was easy to imagine what they said about me.

  “I can’t get the tractor going. I think it’s the carburetor.”

  “Oh?” It had been three years since I’d worked on a tractor. “Where’s your Dat?”

  “He went into town, to the funeral place. With my Mamm.” He paused and then added, “They said I shouldn’t work today, but we’ve fallen so far behind. I don’t think they’ll be back anytime soon.”

  “Can Silas help?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Dat said not to bother him about it—a few weeks ago.”

  But because Arden hadn’t thought to tell Milton not to bother me, he felt he could. Pleased, I said, “I’d be happy to take a look.” I turned to Aenti Suz. “Denki for the tea and the story.”

  “Come back for more when you get a chance.” Her eyes sparkled. “I love to tell it. It’s been a while since the last time. . . .”

  I cocked my head. “How long?”

  She placed the fingertips of both hands to her temples and whispered, “Before Amos left.” She dropped her voice even more. “I would have told it to you three years ago if I’d had any idea. . . .”

  “I’ll be back,” I said, not wanting Milton to overhear his great-aunt. Perhaps she was getting a little sloppy in her old age. If Milton repeated anything she said to his parents, they’d have a field day with it. In fact, I could imagine Arden adding it to reasons to move Aenti Suz off the property.

  Aenti Suz offered me her warm work coat to wear, and I gladly accepted it.

  “Wear it while you’re here,” she said. “I don’t plan to help with the milking or plowing or working on the tractor in the next few days.” Her eyes sparkled again.

  I smiled, grabbed the coat, and waved at Aenti Suz, and then followed Milton out the door, wishing I could wear a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt instead of a dress and Kapp to work on the old tractor. To think, for years, I didn’t have an inkling that farming in a dress was odd to everyone in America who wasn’t Amish or Old Order Mennonite.

  Learning to drive a car hadn’t been that hard for me after driving the tractor since I was thirteen. I loved Dat’s tractor and had since my toddler days. In fact, the vehicle was what had initially hooked me on farming. In time, I found the engine just as fascinating as the steel wheels, dented red body, and torn black seat.

  The tractor was adapted to only go in the fields. The steel wheels meant no one could take it far on asphalt roads, and the taped seat meant the driver couldn’t get too comfortable no matter what. The upside of the steel wheels was that we never had to repair a flat.

  The red paint was uncommonly bright, but Dat had never bothered to change it after he bought the vehicle. The tractor was a Ford 3000, 1975 model, three-cylinder engine, forty-seven horsepower. Dat bought it thirty years ago from a local Englisch farmer.

  The engine was gasoline and fairly simple to work on. Back in Harrisburg, in my research for the Department of Agriculture, I used to troll online forums and read comments about tractors just like this one. Many considered it antique, which made me laugh. I had no idea what the tractor was actually worth, but rebuilt engines were available for around four hundred dollars. Dat had rebuilt ours about ten years ago. Hopefully it would keep going strong for another decade or so. If not, Arden could replace it for a reasonable cost.

  Milton and I stepped out into the wind and a few spitting raindrops.

  “It’s in the far field,” Milton said.

  Of course. I hurried to keep up with him, breathing in the earthy scent of spring emanating from the ground as my steps pressed against the grass. “How’ve you been?” I asked.

  “Gut,” he answered.

  I thought about asking him how he knew I was home, but that might force him to be disloyal in some way to his father. Arden was adroit at gossiping—a skill Milton didn’t seem to share. At least not when he was younger, and hopefully he hadn’t developed it since I left. It didn’t appear he had.

  When we reached the tractor, Milton opened up the hood. “I don’t know that much about it,” Milton said. “After you left, Dawdi or Silas always worked on it.”

  “How long has it not been working?”

  Milton’s face reddened. “A month. I kept trying to get my Dat to help me with it, but he was busy.”

  “What have you been using then?” I asked, wondering exactly what Arden had been up to.

  “The mules,” Milton said. “But that takes so long.”

  I stepped up to the engine and peered inside. “Is the choke open?”

  “Jah,” Milton said.

  “When were the spark pl
ugs changed last?”

  Milton shrugged.

  “Go ahead and start it,” I said.

  He jumped up into the seat and gave it a go. It took a couple of tries, but once the engine took, it quickly slowed and sputtered to a stop. Most likely too much gasoline was going through. I checked the fuel level, but it wasn’t set too high.

  I checked the air filter. It was filthy. “Is there a new one in the barn?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’ll go buy one,” I said. “Want to come with me?”

  He shook his head again. Of course not. Vi and Arden wouldn’t allow that, even though Milton was at least a few years from joining the church and technically it wouldn’t be against the Ordnung for him to ride with me in my car.

  “I’ll take this one with me,” I said. “And go grab my purse.” Milton followed me to the house.

  “Were you sad to be done with school?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

  He nodded.

  I remembered how sad I was. I’d loved school, and I knew Milton did too. I longed to tell him about getting my GED but held my tongue. We walked the rest of the way in silence. When we reached the house, I took the back stairs two at a time, thinking of Ruby Bachmann as I did. Surely the steps had been replaced many times over the years but to think the same logs still held up the back of the house amazed me. And perhaps the planked wood floor I walked over, that was nearly gray from all the years of use, was original too. There was a fireplace that we seldom used anymore along the far outer wall of the enclosed porch. It was made of river rock, and although I’d never thought of it before, I was certain now that it was original too. I shivered as I realized that Ruby probably cooked breakfast over that fire on the morning Paul and her older brothers left for Canada.