A Little Bit of Charm

by Mary Ellis

  “Not so far, thank goodness. But Jessie told me to explain the walkie-talkie and what it’s for.” Keeley looked up at her. “Jessie really likes you and hopes you will like giving tours.”

  “And I, her. I’m sure I’ll enjoy working here.”

  “I like you too.” The girl grinned with the exuberance of a twelve-year-old.

  The English directness again stymied Rachel. “Thank you. I appreciate the walkie-talkie in case of an emergency, but don’t worry. I will be fine.” She had followed Keeley without paying much attention to the surroundings. They stopped in front of a group of no less than thirty-five senior citizens. Everyone wore name tags directly over their hearts. Rachel’s earlier confidence evaporated like dew on the lawn.

  “Good morning. I’m Keeley Brady. Welcome to Twelve Elms. If you’re here for the tour, you’re standing in the right place. This is Rachel King, your guide. Please cut her some slack because this is her first day.” Keeley’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “If you still want to go, line up in front of me and pay six dollars. I’m her assistant.”

  Rachel dared not breathe waiting to see what decision the crowd would make, but everyone lined up to pay their admission. With anxiety building in her veins, she untied Bess and Buster from the post. She held their leather reins in her sweating palm as one by one people climbed up under the white Conestoga cover. Many nodded, a few wished her “Good luck,” and not one looked as if they feared for their life.

  Shaking the reins over the horses’ broad backs, Rachel tried to relax as the wagon began to roll. Then, as though a strange virus attacked her brain, she couldn’t remember a single thing she had memorized from Jessie’s training manual. Her head was as empty as a wallet before payday. She cleared her throat as the horses stopped at the first photo-taking location. Bess and Buster knew more than she did at the moment. “Welcome to Twelve Oaks Stables,” she croaked after an uncomfortable silence.

  “Ain’t it called Twelve Elms?” asked a male voice from the back.

  Everyone laughed except for Rachel, who reached for the walkie-talkie. With her finger hovering over the bright red button, three options swam through her mind.

  Should I demand Keeley meet me at the next stop to take over the tour?

  Should I ask Mr. Brady to hitch my gelding to the buggy because I’ve suddenly become ill?

  Should I buy nose plugs and learn to appreciate chickens? After all, baby chicks truly are adorable.

  Then the image of Jessie popped into her head. Rachel had given her word she would try her best. No way could she head for her buggy without working at least one full day. She set the gadget on the seat, shoved her hand in her pocket to keep it away from the red panic button, and faced her audience. “It is Twelve Elms, but I’m so nervous I can’t remember a single bit of the information I’ve studied for days. To jog my memory, could somebody please ask a question?” Her voice had dropped to a mere whisper.

  The tour group stared. A few chuckled, a few rolled their eyes, and a few looked downright embarrassed for her sake. Then one or two slowly raised their hands.

  “Yes, woman in pink?” Rachel forced herself to smile.

  “How long has this farm been in Casey County?” The question came from a sweet-faced grandmother.

  Rachel released her breath and cleared her throat. “Twelve Elms has been in the Brady family for four generations, beginning with Jeremiah Brady back in eighteen seventy-eight. Thoroughbreds have always been here, besides a variety of other breeds, including Arabians, American Saddlebreds, Morgans, Tennessee Walkers, and working stock such as Belgians, Percherons, and Haflingers.” Rachel scanned the crowd. “Lady in the blue dress?”

  “Are there only horses, or do other animals live here?” She spoke in a singsong voice as though addressing a toddler.

  “Throughout the years, this has been a sheep farm, cattle ranch, and dairy cow operation. One year the family tried tending goats because Mrs. Brady loves goats’ milk cheese, but that didn’t work out too well. Descendants of those original goats still live wild up in the forest. Every winter they wander close enough to the house to be spotted.” Rachel exhaled with relief. “Now let’s move to our second stop. Along the way I’ll explain about the crops we grow here and why they make the best horse feed in the state.” Rachel sat and released the brake. The wagon began to roll as Buster and Bess pulled them down a lane between two pastures. Behind her, the group broke into a round of applause. Voices called out: “We knew you could do it,” and “Everybody has had a first day sometime or another.” She had to concentrate to keep from crying tears of joy.

  At the end of the tour, Rachel could have hugged each and every one of the guests. As the facts she had memorized returned, she ended up saying everything she had planned, just in a different order. When the crowd wandered into the gift shop, she fed apple after apple to the draft horses. Then, when her tour group left the shop with souvenirs and ice cream, Rachel passed out the Twelve Elms brochures, thanking them for being so patient.

  The grandmotherly-type in the pink dress lingered to peruse the services. “Say, Rachel, I don’t see a price for pony rides. Doesn’t this stable have ponies for children’s birthday parties?”

  “No, ma’am, but if you drop by our website, there’s a link on the home page to pony ride vendors in the area. Mr. Brady speaks highly of every one of them.”

  The woman gave her a quick hug and then boarded the bus. Rachel stood in the parking lot waving her hand vigorously. She’d done it. She hadn’t made a fool of herself after all. And she’d enjoyed every minute of it…at least, every minute after tour stop number one.

  Donna tapped on her GPS mechanism for the third time since leaving her office in Charm. For some reason it couldn’t lock onto a satellite signal and kept reverting back to the licensing agreement page. She had spent the entire day yesterday studying the information provided by the Division of Epidemiology and Health Planning, along with reports about the first case of polio in the area. Last night she pored over Internet websites devoted to the Amish lifestyle. She read the fascinating history of how the Amish fled Europe due to religious persecution and settled in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, where many still resided. During the past thirty years, some had moved north and west in search of more plentiful and cheaper farmland.

  After pulling into a driveway to consult her county map, Donna knew she was in the right area but that was about all. Electric lines running to the home indicated that Old Order Mennonites probably lived here. Somewhere to the west were farms of the Old Order Amish. Here in Casey County, each district decided how much technology to embrace…or how little. Blanket generalities didn’t work. Most Englischers, of which she was one, referred to all Plain people as Amish. The information provided by the state’s Department of Health described the family of the polio victim as Amish, yet that might not be the case. When she gave the black box another tap, the GPS simply shut itself off.

  Gazing out the car window at the tidy three-story house, Donna copied the address from the mailbox onto her clipboard and drove slowly up the rutted lane. Laundry flapped on long clotheslines, and brown-and-white cows chewed their cud behind an electric wire fence. In the distance a large herd of cattle wandered the hillside in search of the proverbial greener grass. She felt peace in the barnyard as she parked her car in the shade. Peace and a sense of tranquility. Carrying her briefcase, she approached the house with the sensation of being watched. As she suspected, three sets of eyes stared from between the white porch rails. They were owned by blond-haired little girls wearing blue dresses with black pinafores. Their hair had been braided and coiled atop their heads. Unlike the older girls Donna had seen, these wore no bonnets.

  “Hello,” she called.

  No one spoke. The oldest, a girl of around seven, smiled shyly. The siblings watched with wide-eyed fascination as Donna climbed the steps. “Is your mom home?” Her second query received the identical reaction as the first. Donna rapped on the front door, kee
ping an eye on the threesome.

  Within a few minutes a thin boy appeared behind the screen door. “You’ve come to buy eggs? We’re already sold out. I took the sign down by the road.” He looked guilty as though personally responsible for a disappointed customer.

  “No, I’m not here for eggs. I need to speak to your parents—to your mother and father.” She wasn’t sure why she’d explained the word “parents” because the youth spoke perfect English.

  The boy considered for a moment and then mumbled, “Wait here.” He disappeared into the dark, mysterious interior of the house and remained gone for at least five minutes. Donna half expected the parents to go rattling down the driveway in a beat-up pickup truck, scooping up the three girls on the run like some TV comedy from the nineteen sixties.

  Instead, a woman of around thirty stepped onto the porch. She carried an infant, while a two-year-old boy clung to her skirt with both fists. Running a quick tally, that meant a minimum of six at-risk children in this one family. “May I help you?” asked the woman, hefting the baby higher up her hip.

  “I hope so. I’m Donna Cline from the Casey County Department of Health. Is there someplace we can talk comfortably?”

  “Here is good.” She pointed toward a porch swing. The three little girls sprang up and raced down the steps into the yard.

  “Thank you.” Donna walked to the swing. “Is your husband available? This might interest him as well, Mrs.…”

  The woman didn’t supply her last name. “No, he’ll be in the hayfields until six o’clock. I doubt you would want to wait till then.” There was no hostility in her voice, just a simple statement of fact.

  Donna sat, as did the woman, and the swing began to move. “You have a fine family,” she said. “Beautiful children.”

  “Thank you.” A hint of suspicion clouded the woman’s eyes.

  “They are the reason I am here…to keep them healthy. A case of polio has turned up recently in Casey County in the Plain community—a little girl either Amish or Old Order Mennonite.”

  “Polio?” The woman’s eyes rounded. “I’ve heard of it, but I’m not sure what it is.”

  “It’s an infectious disease, very rare these days, thank goodness, but unfortunately not completely eradicated.” Donna gulped, regretting her choice of words. She’d been advised by Phil to use only basic terms. “It’s a virus that hits primarily children and young adults. It can cause weakness and paralysis in the limbs, especially the legs. The effects often last a lifetime.”

  The Mennonite mother blinked and shifted the sleeping infant to her other shoulder. “Who is this child?”

  Donna softened her expression. “I’m sorry, but federal law prohibits me from disclosing the child’s name.”

  “What’s the family name?” Her expression of mistrust heightened.

  “The law protects the privacy of the family too. I can’t say more about the patient, only that the child is receiving the best medical care available.”

  She frowned. “Will they get better?”

  “That depends on the individual. If it’s a full-blown paralytic infection, they might regain some mobility, but not necessarily. There is no cure. That’s why prevention is so important.”

  The woman’s complexion paled.

  “But the reason I’m here is to protect your children from contracting the disease. A vaccine is available, a shot, that would take just a few minutes to administer and within weeks full immunity would be reached. I’m a registered nurse besides being a licensed social worker. I’m equipped and qualified to administer vaccines, but I would need your written consent. Then you would have no worries about your children ending up in the same circumstance.”

  The young woman rocked the swing and stared across the yard, where cows grazed and corn stood dry and tall, waiting to be cut and ground into livestock feed. Her pale blue eyes seemed focused on sights only she could see. “God will protect my kinner. He shall keep them safe. And if it be His will that we be tested by illness, we shall accept His plan for our lives.”

  “I am a devout Christian myself, ma’am, but I don’t believe that immunizing against viruses interferes with God’s plan.”

  Cocking her head, she raised one eyebrow. “You can speak for the Lord? Your heart knows God’s plan for people you met five minutes ago?” Again her inquiry contained no condemnation.

  Donna drew in a deep breath. She’d been warned not to get involved in theological debates and to just state scientific facts and medical probabilities, but what if those weren’t enough to convince people whose faith lay at the very center of their lives? “No, ma’am, certainly not. Perhaps you can read this brochure about the long-term effects and expense of the disease and talk the matter over with your husband.” She pulled a pamphlet from her briefcase—one that the woman made no attempt to accept. “I wrote my phone number on the back. Call me if you wish more information. I would be happy to return. There would be no cost to your family for the shots,” she added.

  The mother lifted her chin. “Money isn’t the issue here.” As though on cue, her baby began to cry. She rose, patting the child’s back. “Thank you for stopping by, Mrs. Cline, and for your concern.” Without another word she walked into the house for a feeding or a diaper change—either way the meeting was over. The older boy, who had stood like a sentinel on the other side of the porch, strode inside after her. Donna left the brochure on the rail, to be blown away with the next gust of wind.

  She had underestimated the farmer’s wife and mother of six, eight, or who knew how many. She assumed she could appeal to a maternal instinct or take some authoritative position—a person who knew what was best for the county residents. But she had been no match for a devout person’s unflappable faith. She witnessed it personally when her mother had received a terminal cancer diagnosis. The oncologist insisted on a grueling regimen of chemo and radiation that might extend life by six months. Her mother refused, turning instead to intensive prayer. Without subjecting her body to chemical bombardment, she placed her future in God’s hands. Mom had lived another three years—a gift of spontaneous remission—and those years had been relatively pain-free. Donna wouldn’t have believed in the power of faith if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

  But she was no preacher or faith healer. She was trained to share medical information and explain available services to area residents. Without stopping for lunch, she visited farm after farm on that road and then the next. Each response was different but the outcome remained the same.

  “All my children feel fine. We have no need for your shots.”

  “Our district doesn’t follow English ways.”

  “I heard those vaccines contain bits of the virus. I won’t chance my children getting sick from the shots.”

  “I shall pray on the matter. Why don’t you come back next summer?”

  In two cases the homeowner listened politely and said, “No, thank you.” Then the door was shut in Donna’s face as if she were selling door-to-door candy. Hot and tired, she walked back to her car feeling as though she’d accomplished nothing. But as she drove back to Russell Springs she knew she couldn’t give up. She would return to Casey County tomorrow and every day thereafter until she had knocked on every door. Too much was at stake—the healthy future of every Amish and Mennonite child in the area.

  Jake watched the new tour guide lift her hand and wave at the departing bus. Seeing her smile allowed him to relax for the first time that day. He’d been waiting for Rachel to finish the tour with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

  “Hi, Rachel,” he called as the bus pulled from the parking lot with a blast of diesel exhaust.

  She turned slowly and smiled upon recognition. “Hi, Jake. I did it! I gave my first tour and it went pretty well. That is, after a rocky start.” A blush darkened her cheeks.

  When he reached her side they walked up the gravel path toward the stable office. “What kind of a rocky start? Did someone give you a hard time?”

/>   “Oh, no. Everyone was very sweet, but when I got to the first stop, I drew a total blank. I completely forgot everything I learned from the manual.” Her blue eyes widened. “Please don’t think I didn’t study. I practically memorized the entire notebook.”

  “I believe you.” He nodded agreement with more energy than necessary. “The first time I announced events at a horse show, I forgot half the stuff I was supposed to say. And I pronounced everyone’s name wrong—even folks I’d known most of my life.”

  “Thanks for telling me that.” Rachel’s braid danced across her shoulders as she moved. “I was tempted to push the panic button.”

  Jake scratched his jawline. “What panic button?”

  “The red button on the walkie-talkie that sends messages.” She held her balled fist up to her lips. “Help, come get me! I’m surrounded by tourists and don’t know what to say!”

  Laughing louder than he should, Jake kicked a stone down the path. “One of us would have come running. We don’t allow guests to maul employees on their first day at Twelve Elms.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

  “What a great place to work!” She threw her arms out, palms skyward.

  “I take it the information in the manual finally came back to you?”

  “Nope. I had to beg people to ask questions to trigger my memory, but by the second stop I had caught my stride, and by the last I was able to relax and enjoy myself.” She kicked the same stone another dozen feet. “How has your day gone so far?”

  He shrugged and sighed. “I’ve not been astride a horse all morning. I’ve been holed up in the office on the computer doing e-mails, posting to our blog, and updating our Facebook status, while the horses under my care grow fat and lazy.”

  “I don’t know what all that means, but I presume it’s a waste of time compared to your equestrian work?”

  She mispronounced the word “equestrian,” but he thought it sounded so charming he wouldn’t correct her in a million years. “It’s time-consuming but too soon to tell if it’s a time waste. Businesses need a strong presence on the Internet if they want new customers to find them. We can’t grow our business if we stay locked in the twentieth century.” Jake bit his tongue. Would his comments offend a woman who wore bonnets and drove a buggy?