A Simple Autumn: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel

by Rosalind Lauer

  “Ya.” Annie headed toward the door, stopping to pat little Sam on the back and tell him what a good job he was doing. Jonah had been right; he and Levi would probably enjoy spending time together while Jonah was working at their farm.

  Outside the rain was coming down harder now, dark lines slashing through the air. Annie and Remy gathered the skirts of their dresses and ran all the way to the barn. They arrived at the big barn doors, where they paused to wipe the rain from their faces and take in the sight.

  “It’s been transformed.” Remy pressed her fingertips to her lips, awed by the sight.

  Annie had seen many barns and homes set up for church, but something about the stillness of the Kings’ barn amid the rustling storm made it seem like a blessed place. The gray day brought little sunlight into the barn, but the single kerosene lamp that hung from a pillar cast a golden light over the rows of wooden benches.

  “I’ve never seen the barn so clean,” Remy said.

  “Ya, someone did a good job sweeping. And the benches are in nice, neat rows. Mary’s got nothing to worry about here.” Annie pointed to the section of benches on the left. “The men always sit on the left, and they can hang their hats on the granary there. Those two rows in the middle will be for you and Hannah and all the other young folk ready to be baptized.”

  “I can’t believe it’s really happening tomorrow.” Remy walked up the aisle and paused at one of the center benches, lost in thought.

  Annie followed her, wondering what could be going through this English girl’s mind the day before her baptism. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?” she asked.

  “A little,” Remy admitted. “I’m very secure in my decision. This is where I want to be, and I’m committed to living Amish. But there’s always the worry that I’ll do the wrong thing at the wrong time. I had a nightmare that Bishop Samuel was speaking a language I didn’t understand at all. It was Portuguese or Italian or something.”

  Annie laughed, amused by the thought of their bishop speaking a foreign language. “I don’t mean to make light of your worry, but that is funny.”

  Remy sank down on the bench. “I can laugh now, but it was pretty scary in the dream.”

  “I think it would scare me, too.” Annie took a seat on the bench facing Remy. “But you’re a brave girl. You have to be, coming here from the big city and taking on the ways of Plain folk.” Annie thought of her sister Sarah, moving to a very different Old Order district in New York. Sarah had her husband and child for comfort, but Remy had landed here alone—with no one.

  “You came here on your own,” Annie said. “That was a brave thing to do.”

  “Not so brave, really. I came here for my work.” Remy shrugged. “I had no idea that I would end up staying forever.”

  “Gott’s plan often surprises us,” Annie said. “And do you know how unusual it is for an Englisher to join the Amish community?”

  “I know that now,” Remy said. “I didn’t know it when I made my decision to become Amish.”

  “It must have taken a lot of courage to convince the ministers that you truly wanted to join us. They don’t usually take to Englishers who are interested in our ways. A lot of times they turn Seekers away. They tell them to live Plain on their own and follow the Golden Rule, to be kind to others, treat people the way you would want to be treated. The Amish aren’t looking to bring Englishers into the community.”

  “It’s a good thing I charged ahead like a crazy bull,” Remy said. “Bishop Samuel kept giving me that look he has, with those bushy eyebrows and concerned eyes, but I didn’t back off. That look said I was one pebble short of a rock collection. But there was no stopping me when I made the decision to join the church.”

  Annie had seen that look from the bishop and it frightened her.

  “Thank goodness the bishop is a very wise man. I think he could tell that I was ready for this. This family. This way of life.” She leaned back and looked up toward the rafters. “This faith. But if you had told me a year ago that tomorrow I would be baptized into the Amish faith, that I would promise to spend the rest of my life living Plain, I would have said you were crazy. Verhuddelt!”

  “But … here you are,” Annie said brightly.

  “Here I am, and I couldn’t be happier. I’ve found a home here. Ironically, I stick out like a sore thumb in the place where I belong in the world, but I’m very happy.” Remy touched the string of her prayer kapp. “Gott had this wonderful plan for me … a life more awesome than I could have ever imagined. A big family, a home, and so much to do! My days used to be so empty, but now they’re full of love and laughter.” Remy spread her arms in a burst of enthusiasm. “I know it sounds corny, but it’s true. God did an Extreme Makeover of my life. The Amish Edition.”

  Annie didn’t get that last part, but she did see the big picture. She saw it clearly now. Gott had brought Remy here to make her life whole, even as her marriage to Adam would make the King family whole again. Only the Heavenly Father in His great wisdom knew how to heal so many lives so completely.

  In comparison, Annie’s broken heart seemed to be a very small matter. Small as the birds fluttering and cooing in the rafters. Annie let her eyes go soft in the golden light, and the neat rows of benches resembled a ladder. Jacob’s ladder to heaven, she thought.

  Remy rose, hugging herself as she looked around. “They did a great job lining up all these benches.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing. But there’s one problem.” Annie wagged a finger at the wall of alfalfa bales that backed up to the benches on the women’s side. “Those bales there.”

  Remy looked up to the top of the tall stack. “Are you afraid they’ll fall?”

  “No, they’re not going anywhere. But the alfalfa is scratchy and rough. Folks will brush past it. You know, a person could get cut from the stubble. Or splinters.” Annie walked to the end of the row, thinking of what to do. “We need to cover it.”

  Hands on her hips, Remy asked, “How do we do that?”

  “Let’s talk to Jonah,” Annie said. With all the time they’d spent together at her family’s farm, Annie was more comfortable talking with him than Adam, and he was good at solving problems.

  Outside the rain had stopped but the sky was the steely gray of evening. A line of men trudged from the house to the woodshop, each man carrying a rocking chair on his head. Annie was reminded of ants, bearing loads twice their size as they filed toward the nest. Jonah led the line.

  Remy started to follow them into the woodshop, but Annie stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “We’ll wait until they come out,” she said. Once again she realized that Remy still didn’t know all the ways of the Amish. Women didn’t mix with men in all situations, and while men breezed into a place without knocking, most women gave a knock before entering. Such simple ways, though Annie could see how it would be hard to learn a lifetime of small traditions in a few months.

  Jonah immediately stepped out; he must have seen them coming. “Are you looking for me?” He held on to the wooden door cautiously, and Annie felt the urge to tease him that they wouldn’t bite.

  “I’m wondering about those bales of alfalfa near the women’s section,” Annie said. Jonah nodded with understanding as she explained how they were too rough to leave exposed. “Do you have something we can cover them with?”

  Jonah rubbed his chin. “I’d pin a bedsheet up, but that might ruin it.”

  “You don’t want a bedsheet in the barn,” Annie said, looking past him to the silos, the horse barn, and a piece of harvesting equipment parked near the new milking barn. “What about some sacks?” she asked. “Do you have any old feed sacks we could use? We could pin them up, side by side.”

  He nodded. “That would work, and I think we have some burlap sacks in the barn.” He started across the path. “Kumm.”

  Annie followed him, then turned back to link arms with Remy, who smiled as Annie tugged her forward. Gott did work in mysterious ways. In just weeks He had
softened her heart and turned the person she dreaded most into a friend.

  “Come along, and I’ll show you how to cover the hay bales,” she told the girl with a sprinkling of freckles and eyes the color of a cat’s. When it came to the ways of the Amish, Remy had a lot to learn, and thanks to Gott’s blessings, Annie had much to teach her.

  PART THREE

  Dawning Grace

  For by grace are ye saved through faith;

  And that not of yourselves;

  It is the gift of God.

  —EPHESIANS 2:8

  TWENTY-NINE

  An iridescent green dragonfly zigzagged through the air as Gabe crossed the barn Sunday morning. Golden dust and tiny bits of chaff glittered in a shaft of sunlight as he went down the aisle, checking one more time to be sure that everything was in place. The barn was quiet now, but in an hour or so it would be bursting with people, echoing with voices in song.

  Baptism today.

  He knew that Emma would be here. He’d been thinking about that all week, and since she’d broken up with him, the thought of seeing her had weighed him down, as if he’d been harnessed to a boulder. It wasn’t easy stepping around her feelings and his. He’d spent a lot of time thinking of how to avoid her.

  But now that the day was here, his feet felt light, propelled by the excitement of hosting the church service. There was much to do over the next few hours.

  Satisfied that everything was in order inside the barn, he stepped out into the bright September day and joined his older brothers, who waited on the knoll at the end of the lane. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, and yet a line of gray carriages moved along the main road. The gentle clip-clop of hoofbeats filled the fields like a country song announcing that it was a church Sunday.

  “Here come the carriages!” Simon’s eyes were bright with excitement as Gabe joined his brothers. Today would mark the first time Simon helped handle horses and carriages, and the boy was quite pleased to be included with his older brothers in this hosting duty.

  Gabe tagged his shoulder. “Are you sure you can handle these carriages?” he teased. “Folks don’t take kindly to a runaway horse—especially when it’s theirs.”

  “Horses aren’t so hard to handle,” Simon said, staring at the line of horse-drawn carriages coming down the lane. “But that is a lot of carriages to take care of.”

  “Give us a shout if you need a hand,” Gabe called over his shoulder as he moved forward to take the first carriage from the Yoders. Gideon and Deborah climbed out, then turned to help their three little ones to the ground.

  Gabe climbed into their carriage, took the reins, and directed the horse around the side of the barn. He let the horse have her head, and she was a little fast on the curve. The steel wheels popped over a ridge, and Gabe popped up in the seat. He grinned, hoping the Yoders hadn’t seen that.

  Around the back of the barn was an empty field where two horseless carriages were already lined up. Gabe waited as the carriage was pulled in line with the others. Then he reined the mare in and jumped down. Since the service and lunch would last a good five hours, the horses needed to be unhitched and given space to roam. Gabe released the chestnut mare from the rig, then led it over to the paddock, where it would be free to graze for the rest of the morning.

  He hurried back on the footpath. So many aspects of Amish life were slow and easy, but on a church morning the horse hostlers had to move quickly, with so many carriages arriving at once. He came around the barn just in time to see Simon riding off to the field in an open buggy. Only Jonah was left standing at the edge of the lane.

  “You’re moving like the wind today,” Jonah told Gabe.

  Only as fast as a horse will go. Gabe wanted to tell Jonah that he knew of a way to truly ride as fast as the wind, but he kept to himself. It wouldn’t do to talk of such things right before church. “This is the part of hosting I like the most,” Gabe said as another carriage rolled to a stop.

  Gabe and Jonah approached together.

  “Leave this to me,” Gabe said casually. “You can handle the next one.”

  Jonah nodded as Gabe moved forward and froze. Was that Emma in the carriage? But it was too small. He’d been expecting her to arrive with her father and stepmother and all her sisters and brothers.

  Things seemed to happen all at once. Something popped out the side of the carriage. A plastic crate. As it toppled to the ground, Gabe realized that it was the crate Elsie used as a step to get out of the carriage since her short legs didn’t reach the ground. Emma’s brother Caleb came out from the other side.

  Gabe’s palms began to sweat as he backed away. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t want to see Emma. He wasn’t ready to look in her eyes.

  He turned away, facing his bewildered brother. “Please … you take the Lapps’ carriage. I’ll get the next one.”

  Jonah squinted in surprise, then quickly moved past Gabe to pick up the cockeyed crate and set it in place right under the carriage door. As Gabe strode up the lane to intercept the next carriage, he heard them talking behind him.

  “There you go, Elsie.” Jonah’s voice was warm, and when Elsie thanked him, it tugged a sensitive cord deep inside Gabe. Elsie was a cheerful girl, who always had something kind to say, and though it hurt Gabe to turn away from her, it would have been ten times worse to come face-to-face with Emma. That was something he could not do right now.

  Later, when the men were lining up to enter the barn, Gabe felt a broad hand on his shoulder. His older brother Jonah stood beside him, a question in his eyes.

  “There must be a good reason for the way you treated Elsie Lapp,” Jonah said quietly, “but I can’t for the life of me imagine what it might be. Don’t ever forget your manners like that again, Gabe. And I’m going to pray to Gott that you’ll come to see that every person He created deserves your kindness, no matter how different that person looks.”

  Gabe’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying that I …” That I avoided Elsie because she’s a little person? The notion of such cruelty sent waves of nausea through his belly.

  Jonah kept his voice steady, conscious of others who might be listening. “Ya, I’m sure there’s a story.”

  “Jonah, you have to know that’s not true. Look, there’s no time to explain now.” Any second, they would be filing into the barn. “But I don’t judge folks by how they look, Jonah. Judge ye not—that’s God’s law. And I’d never do anything to hurt Elsie.”

  “You were rude. She needed help, and you walked away.”

  Growling to himself, Gabe rubbed his forehead, pushing back the brim of his hat. In trying to dodge Emma, he’d scorned Elsie—kind, good-natured Elsie, who always had a smile for everyone. Guilt throbbed, a raw ache that penetrated his soul.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ll speak with her.”

  Gabe wanted to make things right with Elsie. He wanted to go to her now—right away—and beg her forgiveness. But this was not the time. The men were filing into the barn, and Jonah and Gabe followed in turn. They hung their hats along the granary and filled in the benches on the left side of the barn. The women and children would be coming in behind them. The service would start soon, and then it would be hours until the end—longer than usual on account of the baptism.

  For now, all he could do was pray. Ask for Gott’s forgiveness and pray that Elsie’s forgiveness would follow.

  As the Vorsinger began to lead the first song, the bishop, preachers, and deacons left the barn to meet with the baptismal applicants one last time. Gabe joined in the singing, letting his voice drain from his body. If only the heavy burden of guilt and anger could drain out, too. Such a tangled knot of pain from his parents’ death, love for Emma, passion for motorbikes … and now he could add guilt to the crippling mountain of glowing embers.

  It was probably a sin to come to church with such a heavy heart, but this was who he was now, and rumspringa or not, he knew he needed to keep coming to church. Even though he was enjoying his taste of the En
glish world, it was good to be reminded of the faith he shared with his family and with the community. Motorbikes and loud music sparked excitement in his heart, but church brought him comfort. That was what he needed.

  Peace in his heart.

  The smell of the haymow was sweet. Insects buzzed around the open door and over in the women’s section, children fussed. At times like this, Gabe wondered why he was leery of making a baptismal vow. This was where he belonged. But how could he make such a final choice when part of him was like a bird that had already flown away from the nest?

  He wished he could talk to Emma about it. She had been the one person who would listen when he talked, without judging or teasing him. She tried to understand and she never told him how he should be feeling or thinking, like a lot of folks tried to do. Especially the older members of the congregation who seemed to think that everyone should act the same, never drawing attention to themselves. Maybe that was okay for them, but Gabe didn’t mind rattling a few buggies now and then.

  The second hymn was slow and thick as molasses, and Gabe’s mind drifted to Emma. He had spent the past few days coming up with reasons why he and Emma didn’t belong together. He wanted to be logical about it. If they didn’t have enough in common, maybe Gott didn’t intend for them to be together.

  Reason number one: Emma was modest, and Gabe … not so much. He liked it when folks noticed how well he handled the family’s herd. He knew that good Amish were modest. Modesty was something you needed to have Gelassenheit in your soul. Gelassenheit in your heart, too. Gabe wanted to yield to Gott’s will—that was the Amish way—but he couldn’t do that right now. Riding the bikes, he’d gotten a taste of power and speed. The bikes made him feel more like a man than any Amish custom. He needed to explore some more before he could clear the way for Gott. Baptism and gelassenheit would have to wait.