by Marta Perry
With a final smile for the children, she removed her bonnet, hanging it on a peg in the hallway, and entered the door to the research side of the building. A young man with long hair tied back at the nape of his neck glanced at her, dark eyes curious, before turning back to something he was doing with vials of blood.
He didn’t challenge her, so she walked down the hallway. Perhaps she should have asked Johnny exactly where she was to meet him. The place still felt alien to her, with its whirring noises and the equipment whose function she couldn’t even guess.
The young woman she’d met on her first visit—Stacie, her name was—walked swiftly out of the computer room and came to a dead stop when she saw Leah. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Yes.” There seemed no other answer to that question. Who else would she be? “I am supposed to meet John Kile this afternoon. Can you tell me where he is?”
“He’s not here. He asked me to go over the interview form with you and make sure you know how to do it properly.”
Her tone said that she doubted that was even possible, and her demeanor was so unwelcoming that Leah wanted to flee.
“I can come again when John is here—” she began, but Stacie cut her off with a decisive shake of her head.
“Dr. Brandenmyer has him assigned to a much more important project.” Stacie held out her hand. “Let me see them. I’ll have to take time from my work to catch your mistakes, I suppose.”
Leah had been treated more rudely than that at other times, she supposed. Most Amish had. But she wasn’t sure it had ever bothered her quite so much. When a tourist stuck a camera in your face, it was rude, but it was also not aimed at you, specifically. Any Amish person would do.
Stacie’s attitude was personal, and she had no idea how to handle it.
Submit. The word echoed in her mind. That was the Christian response, the Amish response.
She nodded, not speaking, and followed Stacie to a desk. Stacie flung herself into the chair behind the desk, fanning the interview sheets out in front of her. Leah perched on the edge of the chair opposite her, folded her hands in her lap, and waited.
Frowning, Stacie stuck a pencil into her mass of dark hair and stared at the papers. Leah forced down her resentment that the woman obviously expected to find something wrong. Of course there would be something. That was why she was here—to be corrected, so that she would do it right in the future.
Still, she’d rather have met with John. Only because he’d have done this in a friendly manner, she assured herself. Not because she wanted to see him again.
But it was better this way. The Ordnung—the rules by which the congregation lived, discussed and prayerfully accepted by the people—would find her meeting with an English woman on a matter of business perfectly acceptable. Meeting with a person who was under the bann was considerably trickier.
That could be done, of course. She knew families who lived that way, setting a separate table for those under the meidung, so that they didn’t actually break bread together. Would the Kile family come to that, eventually? She couldn’t guess.
Stacie came to the end of the form and tapped it with her pencil. “Not bad,” she said, her tone grudging. “Going back several generations is helpful, but only if it’s accurate. How can you be sure some of these are facts, not just family stories?”
Family stories were facts, but it was hardly worth arguing the point.
“The information came from the genealogical records in the family Bible,” she said. “Amish families usually keep very complete records. However, if you don’t wish me to provide that—”
Stacie shook her head quickly. “No, don’t stop. It’s great as long as you make accurate notes. I don’t suppose you could get a photocopy of the Bible page and bring it in, so we wouldn’t have to rely on your accuracy.”
Leah tried counting to ten. Supposedly that helped one control an unruly temper. “I don’t believe the families would like to have the Bibles taken out of the house to be copied.”
“This will have to do, then.” Stacie shuffled the papers together and put a paper clip on them. “If you could type instead of print them, it’d be easier to read, but I guess you Amish don’t use newfangled inventions like typewriters, do you?”
Leah wanted to ask the woman why, if she looked down on the Amish so much, she was involved in research here. She didn’t. She kept her voice colorless. “We do use typewriters in business, but I don’t have access to one, and I’m sure I can print them more quickly.”
“And Leah always had the neatest printing in the whole class,” said a voice behind her.
“Johnny.” She couldn’t stem her pleasure at the sight of his warm smile as he came in, dropping a case of some sort on the nearest desk. It was a joy to see any friendly face after Stacie’s open antagonism. “I thought you weren’t here today.”
“Just got back.” He moved toward her with such enthusiasm she thought for a moment that he intended to hug her, but then he seemed to recall himself and touched her shoulder lightly instead.
“You brought back all the information?” Stacie interrupted.
“The files are on my computer,” Johnny said, turning his attention to her, and then embarked upon a discussion that was so technical that, to Leah, they might as well have been speaking in Russian.
Today he wore what she supposed was a business shirt, with a collar that buttoned down and a tie. How long, she wondered, had it taken him to learn how to tie one of those? How long to feel comfortable with a belt instead of suspenders?
Johnny swung back to her so quickly that perhaps he’d felt her looking at him. “If you’re finished, let’s go have a cup of coffee or a sandwich. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
He smiled at her, and she was transported into the past, becoming again the young girl whose pulse had fluttered when he’d held out his hand to her at a danze with just that smile.
And that was why it was so dangerous. She wasn’t that girl now, and Johnny wasn’t that boy.
“I don’t think—”
His mood changed, lightning fast as always. “You’re not going to let some ridiculous rules stand in the way of talking to an old friend, are you?”
He should know her well enough to know that he was making her uncomfortable.
“I can’t.”
“Leah promised to have tea with me today.” Lydia Weaver emerged from behind one of the shoulder-high partitions in the room. She smiled at Leah. “If you’re ready, I have the water hot.”
“That is kind of you,” Leah said quickly. She walked away from Johnny without looking back.
“You have rescued me again,” Leah said as soon as the door of
Lydia’s office closed behind them. “But it is not necessary to give me tea.”
“It is a pleasure to give you tea,” Lydia replied, nodding toward the rocking chair Leah had taken the last time and busying herself with the tea things. “And I don’t think you needed rescuing. It was obvious from your face that you would say no to John’s invitation, not because of the Ordnung but because that was what your conscience told you to do.”
Leah sat, the rocker giving instant comfort. “I don’t want to be unkind to him, but as much as I like seeing him again, I’m not sure it’s wise to spend time alone with him.”
“John Kile is a gifted researcher, but he doesn’t understand people well, including himself. He wants two contradictory things at the same time.” Lydia set the cup of tea on the table next to Leah.
Leah appreciated the gesture. Lydia was, without making an issue of it, allowing Leah not to have to take the cup from her hand, which was the letter of the law in most communities in regard to eating and drinking with those under the meidung.
Johnny, on the other hand, had been only too ready to make an issue of it.
Lydia sat down opposite her, holding her own cup. She seemed very willing to let the silence stretch out comfortably between them.
Leah sipped the hot, fragrant brew. He
r thoughts drifted to the past, measuring the Johnny she knew against Lydia’s words.
“You’re right,” she said finally. “When he was a child, if he had to choose between a jumble cookie and a snickerdoodle, he’d end up with none if he couldn’t have both.”
Sharing a laugh with Lydia dissipated the last of her tension, but it still left a question in Leah’s mind.
“Tell me, if you will. Is Stacie like that with everyone or just with me?”
“Especially with you.” Lydia smiled. “Although, like many researchers, she is impatient of anything that gets in the way of her work, including good manners.”
“But why? She doesn’t even know me.”
Lydia’s pale eyebrows quirked. “I think you know the answer to that, don’t you? She’s interested in John.”
“Well, but—” Leah paused, trying to assimilate that. She would want for John to find someone to love, wouldn’t she? “I’m not a threat to a relationship she might have with Johnny.”
“Aren’t you?”
“You mean she knows that we once planned to marry, and she’s jealous? But I can’t compare to her.”
“You’re his first love,” Lydia said. “She’s afraid that knowing you again will make him realize that you are what he wants.”
She wanted to deny it, to say it couldn’t be. In a way, this was the opposite of her experience. Those who loved her were pushing her toward Daniel because they feared she would be lured to the English world by her first love. Meanwhile, the person who loved John feared that Leah would draw him back to the Amish world.
She shook her head finally. “He would never return. She doesn’t have to worry about that. But if she cares about him, why is she so derisive of the life that he came from? She has so many misconceptions about the Amish that it’s hard to understand why she’s here.”
Lydia shrugged. “As for that, I think the research is all that matters to her. The Amish are only of interest because their custom of marrying within the church provides such a classic genetic workshop.”
“You could clear up some of her false ideas,” Leah suggested.
“I could.” Lydia looked down at her cup. “Not doing so is one of the accommodations I make to get along in the English world.”
Leah didn’t know how to respond to that. It seemed that jumping the fence was not so simple as shedding one life and picking up another.
They were quiet again for a few minutes. Leah let her gaze drift over the wall of books behind Lydia’s desk. How much pleasure must it be to have a room like this, with more books than you could have time to read?
“May I . . .” She hesitated. Daniel would not allow her to bring Elizabeth to see Lydia. But there was no reason why she couldn’t use the woman as a resource if Lydia were willing. “May I ask you—consult you—about something?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve been asked to help a family.” She chose her words carefully. “The three children were taken away from their Amish home by their mother. They lived in the English world for two years before she died in an accident, and then they came back to their father.”
There, that was a neat, anonymous recounting of the facts. Lydia wasn’t from the community, so she was unlikely to know about Daniel and his family.
“They’re having problems adjusting?” Lydia looked interested. Probably something like this didn’t come her way very often.
“The middle child, the only girl, is eight, one of my scholars. She is so determined to be perfect at everything she does that she becomes overly upset when she can’t.” She censored herself, not feeling she should trust Lydia with the story of Elizabeth’s injury. “She wants to take on duties that a woman would do, instead of a child’s chores.”
“Does the father push her to do that?”
“No. Just the opposite, in fact. He’s very concerned about her.” She hesitated. Her opinions weren’t facts, but perhaps it would help Lydia to know them. “I wondered if she’s trying to emulate her mother, but her father doesn’t agree. He has difficulty talking with them about their time in the outside world.”
Lydia nodded slowly, as if she sifted the facts through her mind. “Would he allow me to see his daughter?”
“I suggested that already. He refused. He feels that I am the one to help her.” She opened her hand, as if exposing her inadequacy. “I know how ill equipped I am to do any such thing. But if I don’t help, there will be no one.”
“I don’t think I can counsel at secondhand,” Lydia said.
Leah’s heart sank. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d hoped for from Lydia.
“But what do your own instincts tell you the child needs?”
“To talk to an adult who cares about her,” Leah said promptly. “Probably not her father, since he finds it so hard. Someone who will listen and reassure her.”
Lydia smiled. “You’re a good teacher, I’m sure. Your instincts are sound.” She stood, going to the bookshelves. “I may not be able to counsel her, but I can lend you some materials that might give you guidance.”
“That would be so appreciated.” Leah stood, accepting the books as Lydia pulled them from the shelves and handed them to her.
Lydia’s hand rested for a moment on the stack of books. “Just—be careful. What you are doing is risky, both for the child and for you.”
“For me?”
Lydia studied her face intently. “It is difficult enough in a counseling situation to stay detached from the client’s problems. In your case, I think that will be nearly impossible. You’ll risk caring too much.”
Lydia’s words gripped her heart. She’d failed Johnny when it came to caring enough. She couldn’t fail a child who depended on her.
“I can only do my best and trust God with it,” she said.
“Da Herr sei mit du,” Lydia said softly, like a benediction. “The Lord be with you.”
Leah pressed her hand. She’d reached the door when Lydia spoke again.
“One thing you should be aware of. In the situation you describe, chances are good the little girl isn’t the only one affected. The whole family may need help in working through their feelings about the mother.” She paused. “Especially the father.”
Daniel. Daniel might need help. But he wouldn’t allow her anywhere near his feelings about his dead wife, would he?
The makeshift curtains, probably sheets from someone’s bed, pulled together for the final time, and the audience, gathered on benches under the trees in the schoolyard, burst into applause. Daniel clapped as heartily as the rest.
Every parent was nervous when his or her child performed, of course, but he might have been more jittery than most. This was his children’s first end-of-school program in Pleasant Valley, and it was more than a marking of the end of classes for him. It was another sign of their belonging here.
The scholars marched out, beaming broadly now that the difficult part was over, and the audience clapped again, the clapping growing deafening when Teacher Leah appeared. The community must realize how fortunate they were to have such a dedicated, skillful teacher.
Lest he be caught staring at Teacher Leah, he sought out his own young ones. He’d held his breath while Elizabeth said her part, fearful of what might happen if she faltered. She’d held her friend Becky’s hand and been letter-perfect.
The curtains, operated with care by Matthew and another boy, had opened and closed on cue, something that clearly mattered to Matthew far more than the piece he’d gotten through.
As for Jonah—well, Jonah forgot his poem before he reached the end and turned to the assistant teacher to be prompted with such an engaging grin that everyone had chuckled.
Women started uncovering the dishes that marched down the centers of the rows of tables, while the men moved benches and tried to stay out of their way. A buzz of conversation and laughter filled the air.
On an afternoon like this, with the sun shining, the church family around him, and all goi
ng well, he wondered why he’d told Leah all that he had. More, why he’d asked for her help.
They were going to be all right. Surely that incident with Elizabeth had been a onetime thing. He’d talked to her, getting her to promise that she’d never again try anything so foolish.
Still, he had to admit that it might be gut for Elizabeth to spend time with a woman she admired as she did Teacher Leah. He disliked Leah’s continued association with her former sweetheart, but he couldn’t doubt that she had the interest of the children at heart.
Elias Beiler, Leah’s father, came over to him, a broad smile on his face. “They’ve done well, those young ones of our Leah’s, haven’t they?”
“They have indeed. I was just thinking that the community is fortunate in our teacher.”
Since Leah’s father was looking at her, it seemed natural that Daniel look as well. The excitement of the day had brought a flush to Leah’s cheeks, and her green eyes sparkled with pleasure.
“I understand we’re to have your little Elizabeth around a bit this summer,” Elias said.
Daniel nodded. “I hope she won’t be in the way of things your wife is doing.”
Leah and her mother had hatched a plan whereby they would teach Elizabeth quilting over the summer. He didn’t doubt that the teaching would branch into some cooking and baking and other things that girls her age were normally learning from their own mothers.
“Not a bit of it,” Elias said quickly. “My Mattie loves showing young ones how to do things, and your Elizabeth is a sweet, quiet child, not like those schnickelfritzes of our Levi.”
Since the two young boys in question were wrestling in the grass at the moment, the comment seemed apt, but Elias looked at them with an indulgent eye.
“Elizabeth will enjoy it, I know. My mamm and daad hope to come for a long visit, but with my sister about to give birth, they won’t get away for another month or two, at least.”
“Well, they’ll be most welcome any time.”
Another man wandered over with a comment about the corn crop, and the conversation turned more general. Daniel listened attentively, figuring that Elias, like his own father, had no doubt forgotten more about farming than he’d learn in a lifetime.
