by Amy Lillard
“It’s no barn raising,” Mary Elizabeth explained as they hoed rows of the recently cleared garden plot.
“I’ve heard about those. That really happens?”
“Of course. The whole district comes. This weekend, there’ll only be a few families there.”
“I’m still impressed. If we need a new roof, my father’s assistant calls a roofing company.”
“I’m impressed that you talked Onkel into going.”
Avery stopped hoeing and turned to the younger girl. “It was strange, you know. Like some voice inside me saying not to let him stay at home. Crazy, huh?”
Mary Elizabeth smiled. “That’s the voice of God.”
Avery cocked her head to one side and gave the idea some thought. “Really?”
“I’m sure of it.” Mary Elizabeth began a new row, and Avery started across from her.
She let the idea sink in, then took a measured breath. “I’m really grateful your aunt is willing to help me learn to cook.”
“You’ll like Katie Rose. Everybody does.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
Mary Elizabeth smiled. “She’s the kindest person I know.”
They worked in silence for a few minutes before Avery broke the country quiet once again. “You’re sure it’s okay for me to go without any shoes?” She looked down at her bare feet, half-buried in freshly-turned earth. She couldn’t remember a time when she had gone barefoot like this. Maybe on the beach, but this was different. She had been barefoot for days, inside and outside the house. She liked the freedom of it. She would never ever go without shoes in Dallas, but out here, it felt right.
Mary Elizabeth smiled. “Of course. But I will see if I can find you a pair, if’n you want. There’s just not much need to wear shoes in the summer.”
“I suppose not.” She glanced down at her grimy feet. She felt free and breezy, but she’d have to give them a good scrubbing tonight just the same. Avery straightened and looked down the lines of mounded dirt. “What are we going to plant again?”
“Food for the table.” Mary Elizabeth counted on her fingers. “Peas and tomatoes. Watermelon, cantaloupe, okra, cucumbers, some string beans. Oh, and a couple rows of corn.”
“But Gideon planted fields of corn.”
Mary Elizabeth shook her head. “Feed grade for the animals, and to sell to other farmers to feed their stock. This is sweet corn.”
Avery nodded and went back to her task. “Do you really think Gideon will keep up the garden after I leave?”
Mary Elizabeth frowned. “I do not like to think about you going.”
“I’ll have to, eventually.”
“But I prayed for you.”
Avery stopped and eyed Lizzie curiously. “You did?”
“I asked God to bring someone to help Gideon, and He sent you.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t stay here forever.”
Mary Elizabeth scrunched up her brow. “Why not?”
“I have a family and obligations.” The thought of staying here, at least awhile longer, kept creeping back into her mind. She wanted to stay and watch the miracle of the garden, the little seeds they had planted turn into food large enough to feed them.
To sit across from Gideon . . . every day.
She shook away that thought. The Dunstan Pro-Am was less than two weeks from now, and she needed to be there. The weight of that responsibility settled heavy on her chest, uncomfortable and stifling.
All her life, she had been her father’s show pony, her makeup always just right, the finest clothes, an expensive car—everything to illustrate her father’s success to the world. Until now, she had not realized the strain this materialistic lifestyle had put on her. Now that she was away from all that, she felt relaxed. Free. Amish life seemed so natural, so unassuming.
She had once wondered why anyone would live the way the Amish do—separated from modern society without electricity or cars—but after these past few days with Gideon, she understood. The serenity among the Amish was unparalleled. Avery could see why the Plain people lived in this manner and couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to live like this the rest of her life.
She pushed the thought away. Sooner or later she’d have to return to Dallas. Until then . . . Avery lifted her face to the sun, its golden rays warming her cheeks.
Until then she would enjoy this gift she had been offered.
The day of the work frolic dawned with blue skies and a light breeze out of the north. A perfect day.
Avery jumped off the couch, both excited and nervous as she folded the quilts she used as a bed, washed her face, and donned the new frack Mary Elizabeth had brought for her to wear. This dress had shorter sleeves that puffed a little at the shoulder and ended with an elastic band just above the elbow. It was the most beautiful shade of green—not quite emerald, and not quite jade.
She tucked her hair behind her ears, fluffed it back out again, and studied her reflection in the small mirror above the sink. Her skin was starting to tan and freckle, but she wasn’t at all unhappy with the results. In fact, she thought she looked better than she had in years. Healthy and unburdened. Unfettered.
The front door creaked open, and she tried not to race to greet Gideon. She was afraid he might’ve changed his mind about the work frolic, but he was there, dressed and ready to go.
“Guder mariye, Annie.”
She smiled at the sound of his name for her. “Good morning to you. I made some coffee.”
Gideon nodded.
“We’ll leave right after breakfast?”
“Jah.”
They sat down to eat, comfortable in the silence. What would it be like to sit down like this with him day after day, without the threat of returning to her world hanging over them?
For now she wouldn’t say a word. She didn’t want to ruin what had started out to be such a perfect day.
Ruth Fisher placed the stack of cups next to the big, blue water cooler. A work frolic made for a busy mornin’, totin’ water, layin’ out food to feed the men, and waitin’ on them to finish the job at hand. But she didn’t mind. Her family was here. Her husband, Abram; her youngest boy, John Paul; Gabriel and his sons. The only male Fisher missing was Gideon.
She sighed despite herself. Gideon would come around on his own. It had been a hard year for him after losing Miriam and Jamie. Every night Ruth prayed that Gideon would find his way back to himself. She didn’t know why he couldn’t accept that losing his family was God’s will. Couldn’t say herself how she would feel if she stepped in Gideon’s shoes.
“Would you look at that.” Beth Troyer, Hester’s closest neighbor, stopped arranging plates and napkins and instead watched a familiar buggy pull up alongside the rest.
Could it be?
Ruth’s breath caught in her throat as Gideon jumped down from the seat, went around in front of the horses, and held out his hands. She had been so gripped with the sight of Gideon that she didn’t see that he had brought someone with him. A woman. A petite thing with Englisch cut hair and an Amish frack.
So the rumors were true.
Before they pulled up, the yard had been bustlin’. Men going about readying to tear down the damaged roof and replace it with new, stronger shingles. Women hurrying about after children and food. But now everyone stood stock-still, their collective breath held as they waited for her Gideon and the outsider to come nearer.
Even at this distance she could see that he had done the unthinkable—he had shaved his beard. She knew he had been hiding himself. She had been worried about him for a long time. But she had turned her worries to prayer, and her prayers to the Lord. She hadn’t told a soul of her concerns, not even her Abram, but she feared that Gideon would only find peace again when he j
oined God—and his family. As much as the thought pained her, she knew if he could choose, that’s where he’d be now.
They’d been close, he and his Miriam. They had grown up together. Miriam had been a fine wife. Ruth just hadn’t realized how much her son had grown to care for her. Amish couples didn’t always marry for love. Devotion and strength of spirit were much more important. Love came later. Not always, but usually. And Jamie, sweet child. He was smart and funny, bright and carefree, the apple of his father’s eye. Most Amish families had five or more children, but Gideon and Miriam had only been blessed once. Yet Gideon poured enough love on that child for six others to boot.
She closed her eyes and sent up quick words of prayer and grace. Gideon was hurtin’ mighty bad. If she could take the pain from her son, she would. But she could only ask for the Lord’s help. And show that she still loved and supported him.
She took a deep breath and purposefully walked across the quiet yard toward him—toward them—and tried not to give too much attention to the fact that they both wore green, like they had matched themselves as a sign. Nor that her son had this Englischer’s hand tucked inside his own.
“My son.” She swallowed back her tears. This was the time to be happy. Maybe this was the first step in his healing.
“Mamm.” He bent down and kissed her on her forehead just under the edge of her bonnet. He pressed his smooth cheek to hers, then pulled away. “I need you to meet someone. This is my guest, Annie Hamilton. Annie, this is my mudder, Ruth.”
Ruth reached out a trembling hand and took that of the young woman standing at her son’s side. “So pleased to have you with us today, Annie. Won’t you come join the women while the men ready up to work?”
Annie let out a long breath as if she had been holding it for some time. “I’d like that very much.”
Her smile was enchanting, her eyes a strange shade of violet. Dark hair curled softly around her face in a becoming way that seemed both worldly and innocent. She appeared small and fragile standing next to her Gideon, and suddenly Ruth grew afraid. More so than she had ever been in her life. She sensed a connection between them, some sort of bond, an invisible hold that pulled them together like metal and magnets.
And she could tell that Gideon could feel it as well.
No, no, no, she prayed. Don’t let him fall in love with this woman. His heart was so recently broken, barely starting to heal. An outsider like Annie Hamilton would destroy him in a matter of days. Lord, please protect him, protect his heart and make him strong. Aemen.
Mary Elizabeth rushed toward them. “Hello, Annie.” She threw her arms around Avery, giving her no choice but to embrace her in return or fall over backward.
Avery smiled, her gaze trailing behind Gideon as he walked toward the men. Her hand still tingled where he had touched it, given it one last squeeze before he surrendered her to his family.
The young girl’s eyes sparkled as she pulled away. “I want you to meet everyone.” She hooked her arm through Avery’s and led her toward the women and children.
“This is my aenti, Katie Rose.”
A pretty young woman with honey blonde hair and jade green eyes reached out a hand and took Avery’s much like her mother had. “So pleased you are here, Annie. I hear we have a cooking lesson this afternoon.”
Avery could tell why everyone liked Katie Rose Fisher—she was just that likeable.
Next came Hester Stoltzfus, the young widow who owned the house; her neighbor Beth Troyer, who was also her sister-in-law, though Avery couldn’t remember on whose side. Then Lizzie pointed out her brothers. Matthew, the oldest, was the very image of his father. Then came Simon who had been with his father once when Gabriel had come by to see Gideon. Simon had the same green eyes as the majority of the Fishers, but he was blond like Lizzie. David and Joseph both had their father’s dark hair, but deep blue eyes they must have inherited from their mother. And then there was Samuel.
Four-year-old Samuel touched Avery the most. Green eyes, red hair, and freckles, he was so different from the rest. His widely-spaced, almond-shaped eyes, moon face, and flattened nose could not overshadow his sweet, sweet smile. He hid himself in the folds of Katie Rose’s skirt, only peeking out when he thought no one was looking.
“Mamm died giving us Samuel,” Lizzie whispered. “He doesn’t talk much.”
Lizzie didn’t state the obvious—Samuel had Down syndrome. Avery’s heart went out to the child, so touching and shy. She wanted to scoop him up and rain kisses all over his freckled cheeks, but he retained a firm hold on Katie Rose’s skirt.
Katie Rose seemed not to notice that he never let her go, making Avery wonder if this was how they always were.
“The lady in black under the sycamore tree is my great-grossmammi. Everyone calls her Noni.” She frowned. “I’m not sure why. But she’s very wise.”
As Lizzie said the words, Noni turned toward them. Avery could see the wit and intelligence in her clear green eyes. She might be pushing ninety, but she looked as sharp as someone half her age.
Yet, Avery wasn’t sure what the look meant. Maybe Noni was checking her over, trying to figure out how exactly an Englisher came to be among them this day. Before either of them could say a thing, someone called the group to prayer.
And then the work began.
What a sight! All the men dressed in similar clothing and crawling around on the roof. Avery was enthralled by the cooperation and togetherness they displayed.
The other ladies either sat in the shade, or chased their children, otherwise accepting the miracle unfolding before them as an everyday occurrence. To them, this was probably just another Saturday of pulling together to help a neighbor.
But to her, this was so much more.
She had been a little concerned when she and Gideon had pulled up. The yard full of people stopped and stared. She didn’t know who they were staring at the most—Gideon or her.
There were reproving looks all around. She knew the Amish tried not to judge and reserved that right for God. But she could almost see the wheels of their minds turning, trying to decide why one of their own had gone wayward, and why a chosen son had brought a stranger into their midst.
She had not planned on standing out quite so much. Back at the house with Mary Elizabeth, she hadn’t noticed the differences. But standing in a yard full of women, all properly dressed, her makeshift attire was glaringly obvious. Shoes weren’t her problem at all. Most there were barefoot, women and children alike. She wished, though, that she had taken the time to figure out how to wear the apron that Mary Elizabeth had brought over with the dresses.
And she was the only adult there with a bare head. Men and boys alike wore their wide-brimmed straw hats. The women wore bonnets or what Lizzie called a kapp. Avery felt strangely vulnerable without one of her own.
Which was ridiculous. In a couple of weeks or less, she’d be heading back home to Dallas. She only wore the dress she had on now because she had nothing else to wear. It wasn’t like she was joining the Amish . . . merely visiting them.
Mary Elizabeth sidled up beside her and handed Avery a glass of lemonade. “It’s something, jah?”
“Very.”
“I love to watch them work.” Lizzie shaded her eyes as she scanned the roof covered with family and friends.
“Anyone of them in particular?”
She blushed. “No. Dat wouldn’t allow it. Not until I’m sixteen.”
Which really didn’t answer her question, but Avery didn’t call her on it.
“Mary Elizabeth!”
She winced. “Yes, Dat.”
“Stop standin’ around and tend to your brother.” Gabriel pointed with his hammer toward the sycamore. Eight-year-old Joseph, who was not allowed on the roof, had decided to get a better look from the branches of the tree.
“Yes, Dat.” She shot Avery an I’m sorry look and turned away to get her brother.
Avery had a feeling Gabriel’s command had nothing to do with Joseph’s safety—and everything to do with her.
In a day and a half, everyone in the district—maybe the entire settlement—would know that his son had shaved his beard. Maybe sooner since Beth Troyer knew. She was a good woman, but she talked too much at quiltin’ frolics.
And picnics.
And Amish baseball games.
Abram chanced a look at Gideon where he skimmed off the ruined shingles and pitched them over the edge of the roof. By now Gideon’s beard should have been long and full. Instead, he was barefaced. Shamed. Once the bishop found out, he was sure to have Gideon shunned. The problem was, Gideon hadn’t been around much. He’d stopped coming to church, and rarely, if ever, left his property.
Shunned or not, Abram didn’t think his son would care much either way.
But a meidung would also mean not giving him food. Ruthie would fret if she couldn’t feed him. She had herself convinced that if she didn’t provide him with food, he wouldn’t eat at all. Abram hadn’t protested, because he was scared she was right.
He had raised Gideon better than that. Had given him the same life lessons as Gabe. When Rebecca died, Gabe didn’t hole up and grieve like an Englischer. He’d pushed on, raisin’ his children and accepting God’s will.
Not Gideon.
’Course, Gideon had lost more than his wife. He’d lost his son. Abram was afraid that he’d lost his faith in the Almighty as well.
Perhaps if he talked to the bishop on Gideon’s behalf. The Ordnung was clear, but maybe Rueben Beachy could see his way to giving Gideon a little more time to get his mind back right. The bishop knew Gideon’s devotion. He knew what a good man Gideon was. And Abram had faith that, with a little time and direction, Gideon would find his way back.
There was still life left in him.
Abram had seen his son’s hands linger a bit too long on the Englischer’s waist when Gideon had helped her down from the buggy. The act was familiar, almost intimate. He hoped Ruthie hadn’t noticed, but he knew there wasn’t much his wife missed.
