“Are you hungry?” Remy asked. “Mary baked two loaves of bread, and I’m carving up leftover chicken for sandwiches.”
He hadn’t eaten all day. “I think I could polish off a whole chicken by myself.”
She smiled. “Then you’d better get washed up, before your brothers beat you to it.”
Jonah was quiet during the simple meal. He knew there would be time to talk of Aaron and the Jeep and his punishment in the coming days. Exhaustion pressed upon his warring thoughts. Part of him craved more meals like this, with everyone gathered around the table. The other part looked forward to the family branching out and growing … though right now he couldn’t see how that might happen. Most of all, he was grateful to be home, where he knew his family accepted him no matter what fate the ministers decided.
Home … where the family sat together for a good meal.
Where Ruthie worried that he looked tired, Simon talked about his horse, and Leah shared her dream of becoming Emma’s teaching assistant. Where everyone pitched in to make sure the cows were milked and the chickens tended.
And at the end of the day—a very long day—there was no comfort that could compare with stretching out on his own bed.
Although Jonah awoke the next morning with a clear head, worry shadowed him throughout the day as he did his chores at home. He had never been in trouble with the clergy before. Even during his rumspringa, no one had needed to say a word to him about staying in line.
But now trouble was brewing like storm clouds in the sky as he headed over to the Stoltzfus farm. As the horse’s hooves clattered rhythmically on the road, the hammer of judgment pounded on his back.
And I don’t deserve to be punished.
He had always been careful to choose the right path. Careful and obedient. He had a perfect record … a reputation any man could be proud of.
He tipped back his hat as realization dawned. Ya, he’d been proud of his good reputation in the church. Proud to call himself a faithful Amish man.
And that was wrong. Pride in any form was wrong. Hochmut, they called it.
Maybe it was time to let go of the reputation he valued so dearly and begin to see himself in a new light: a simple man who worked a simple land.
With the rest of the family working in town or still at the hospital with Aaron, there was no avoiding Annie. She popped out the side door, her cherry lips curled in a content smile.
“Good news!” she said. “Dat woke up and was talking last night. He even joked with Mamm and the doctors.”
“Back to his old self.” Hearing the news about Aaron made his worries seem small. It was time to step up and be a man, take the punishment handed out and move on. Time spent worrying about what other people thought about him would be wasted time.
She tilted her head, studying him. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
She had come to know him well. He rubbed his jaw. “I talked with Bishop Samuel yesterday, and there’s going to be a price to pay for me driving that Jeep. I might have to make a public confession, and there’s a good chance I’ll be shunned.”
She shook her head. “That seems unfair.”
“It’s what happens when you go against the Ordnung. We both know that. So if you want to distance yourself from me, I understand. You don’t deserve to be connected to the kind of disgrace that’ll be coming down on my head.”
“That’s crazy talk.” Annie shook her head, her blue eyes flashing with indignation. “Jonah King, there is no better man for me than you, and you know it.”
He tipped back his hat and rubbed his temple in weary frustration. “I’m a sinner now.”
“How could I hold that against you? I was there and … do you want to know what I think? I think the Heavenly Father made sure you were with us, because you are the only Amish man I know who could think so clearly in a crisis and put us in that Jeep and get us across the river. You are the only one, Jonah. Gott sent us a miracle, and it’s you.”
He shook his head. “It’s probably wrong to say those things. I went against the Ordnung, Annie.”
“That’s right. And that you would be willing to pay that price of repentance … to be shunned so that you could save my dat …” She frowned. “I’m sorry for the shame you feel, but if you’ll stop beating yourself up and listen, you’ll hear that I love you. No matter what the ministers decide. I will always love you. In good times and bad.”
Her words stopped him in his tracks.
Annie loved him.
Unconditional love … like the love of his brothers and sisters. Like the love of the Heavenly Father.
It was Gott’s greatest gift, but his heart was too troubled to accept it.
Gently, he put his hands on Annie’s shoulders and faced those eyes that seemed to see right into his soul. “You know that I love you,” he said. “I always have, and I always will. But right now, I’m stuck in this muck alone, and I don’t want to drag you into it.”
Her blue eyes flared wide. “Drag me in. I was there with you. I’m just as guilty. I would have driven the Jeep if I knew how.”
The thought of Annie trying to drive eased the weight on his shoulders. “I think I’ll have to confess before the congregation on Sunday,” he said. “After that, after the punishment, you can decide how you feel about me.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders and tore himself away, walking quickly toward the barn.
“This doesn’t change anything!” she called after him. “It makes me love you even more.”
Her bold words, shouted over the farm—typical of Annie. That courage was one of the many things he loved about her.
Although the words were a salve to his wounds, he kept walking. He was a practical man, and there were many chores to be done.
An hour or so later he heard the horses before he saw the carriages—three of them—coming toward the Stoltzfus farm. He continued pushing the wheelbarrow along the path, which gave him a vantage point that allowed him to watch the carriages pull up near the farmhouse. The three bearded men were their ministers, Bishop Samuel, Preacher Dave, and Deacon Moses. When Annie came out of the house and pointed toward the barn, he knew they’d come for him.
Hmm. Was his sin so great that it couldn’t wait until Sunday for further discussion?
He parked the wheelbarrow and started down the path to meet the three men, who held on to their hats against a gust of wind.
“Jonah.” Dave nodded. “We were at the hospital this morning, the three of us.”
“Aaron was up and walking already,” said Moses. “He looks mighty healthy for a man who had surgery yesterday.”
Jonah let himself smile. “I’m glad to hear that. He was still recovering when I left the hospital yesterday.”
“We heard more of the story from Lovina.” Bishop Samuel’s eyes were stern, magnified by the lenses of his glasses. “She told us how you came up with the idea to use the Jeep.”
The breath froze in Jonah’s chest. “I’m ready to confess on Sunday. Whatever you say, I will do.”
“Ya. We’ve been talking about that.” Dave tugged lightly on the tendrils of his beard. “Such a night! The covered bridge collapsed. The river flooded its banks. With all those things, how could you get Aaron to the doctor? It was a good thing to save him.”
“But a sin to drive that Jeep,” Moses added.
“A sin that must be confessed, of course,” Samuel said. “But with all that was going on, we ruled that you won’t have to confess before the congregation. You can do it now, to the brethren.”
Jonah blinked. They were easing his punishment. “And the bann?”
Moses’s mouth twisted around. “You won’t be shunned, as long as you confess now.”
“I will.” Jonah sank to his knees on the cold earth. “I do confess.…” Relief washed over him as he lowered his head and spoke of his sin before the three men.
The men talked about the Ordnung and the importance of following church rules. “A car can take a man far from his f
amily,” the bishop added. “It makes a person part of the world, and we must remain separate, living on this earth but not of it.”
Jonah was still kneeling when he saw a flash of white from the corner of his eyes. Fluffy bounded over, dashed behind the three ministers and circled back. The lamb scampered closer and nuzzled Jonah’s shoulder.
Keeping his head bowed, he pushed the lamb away.
At once, the three ministers went silent, then laughed.
“This reminds me of the Lamb of God in the Bible.” Of the three brethren, Moses knew the most about the Bible. “ ‘Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.’ That lamb was Jesus.”
“Then it’s very fitting,” the bishop said. “You’ve confessed your sin, and Gott the Father forgives you.”
“But I think this is just an ordinary lamb,” said Dave, always the practical one.
Jonah smiled as Fluffy came at him again, butting against his shoulder.
“You can get back on your feet,” Dave said, “before this one knocks you over.”
Jonah rose with ease as his burden slipped from his shoulders. He stood tall as the conversation turned to questions about Aaron’s sheep and the running of the farm while the man was ill.
“I’m not a farmer,” Dave said, “but I know that any farm needs many hands to succeed. And Gott saw fit to bless Aaron with all girls.”
“Annie and her sisters know their way around the farm,” Jonah said. “But it does take a handful of people to keep it running.”
“Help is on the way,” Moses said. “But you’re doing a right fine job, Jonah.”
The man’s words brought Jonah back to a busy fall day, many years ago. His first day spent making hay with the men, from sunup to nearly sundown. “You did a good job today,” Dat had said, his dark eyes twinkling. “You’re a right fine worker, Jonah.”
He swallowed back the knot of emotion in his throat. Now when he thought of Dat, it was the good memories that came to him: the gentle lessons, the jokes, the moments when his father had challenged him to take on the work of a man.
Looking over the fields and outbuildings, the barn and the farmhouse with smoke rising from the chimney, Jonah knew that time had come.
By the grace of Gott’s blessings, he would carry on the traditions and faith followed by his family for hundreds of years.
After the men left, he turned to Annie, who had come out of the kitchen to say her good-byes to the clergy.
“They allowed me to confess, so I don’t have to go through it in front of the congregation on Sunday.” He explained it all, ending with Fluffy’s intrusion on the proceedings.
Annie laughed, then turned to him, her blue eyes full of tenderness. “Good thing for Fluffy! Otherwise, you might still be out there listening to Bible stories from Deacon Moses.”
He smiled. “You’re right.” He stood tall, feeling so light now that his burden had been lifted.
She pressed her small hands to his chest as she looked up at him. “I know this has been hard for you, but someday it will be a magnificent story to tell our grandchildren.”
“Grandchildren?” Annie was always a few steps ahead of him. “Isn’t that putting the cart before the horse?”
“It’s good to plan ahead.”
“Right now, I don’t even have a plan for today.”
“Sure you do. Some of the men are coming over this afternoon to help you finish off the winter shelter for the sheep.”
Jonah nodded. “I can use the help.” With a few men on the task, they might get the work done before sunset.
“But first, there’s lunch. Three people dropped by with casseroles and bread this morning. Everyone who heard about Dat wants to help.”
It was the Amish way. Jonah glanced out over the golden brown fields and purple hills, grateful to live in a community of kindness.
“But right now you need to wash up.” She patted his chest. “And that’s the plan. How does it sound?”
“Good.” The weariness and strain of the past day and night slid away. His heart was so full, but he couldn’t find the words.
“But first, before any of that, you need to kiss me.” She curled her fingers over his shoulders, lifting her face to his. “That’s part of my plan.”
He folded her into his arms and held her against his heart. “You’re a good planner.” When his lips touched hers, he thanked Gott for the blessings in his life, especially the love of this woman in his arms. In his days on this farm Annie had become his best friend. Come next wedding season, he hoped to make her his wife.
Thank you, Father.
He imagined his small prayer circling around Annie and him, binding them close together before swooping over the golden fields like a flock of nightjars and rising to the wide blue heavens.
RECIPES FROM THE SEASONS OF LANCASTER NOVELS
NUTTY CINNAMON BREAD
This is the nutty bread that Annie Stoltzfus bakes in A Simple Autumn. It’s her dat’s favorite. Some Amish bake this with walnuts from their own trees. Feel free to use fresh, but be advised that wild walnuts are really hard to crack … some tough nuts!
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Combine:
• 1 tablespoon active dry yeast (dissolved in ¼ cup warm water)
• ¾ cup milk
• 4 tablespoons butter (melted)
Beat in:
• 1 egg
• ½ teaspoon salt
• 3 tablespoons sugar
• 1 teaspoon almond extract
Gradually stir in:
• 3 cups flour
When the flour has been mixed in, place dough in an ungreased bowl and put a damp towel over the top. Let it rise for an hour, until doubled in size. Punch the dough and divide into two sections. Press half of it into the bottom of a 9-inch round buttered pan. Stretch the dough so that it covers the pan.
For the filling, in a separate bowl, combine:
• 4 tablespoons softened butter
• ½ cup brown sugar
• ½ cup chopped walnuts
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
When the filling is creamy, spread it over the flattened dough. Lightly grease your hand with butter, then stretch the second half of the dough over the filling, pressing down only at the edges. Bake for 20 minutes or until golden brown. Take the bread from the pan to let it cool before cutting.
GMAY OR CHURCH COOKIES
These large, soft sugar cookies are passed around for small children halfway through an Amish church service. The idea is to give the little ones a break during the very long service. Long after Amish children are too old to take the cookies, some still long for them when they see the platter go by on Sunday. The rest of the cookies are served to everyone as part of the meal after the service. These may have become the traditional church cookie recipe because they actually taste better when they are made in advance. This recipe makes ten dozen cookies, but you can cut it in half if you are not serving a congregation of a hundred or more. Sam King and his aunt Betsy make these in A Simple Autumn.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
In a big bowl, combine:
• 3 cups lard
• 5 cups sugar
Add:
• 5 eggs
Beat well. Add:
• 2½ cups milk
• 3 teaspoons vanilla extract
Stir in:
• 2 teaspoons baking soda
• 5 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 11–12 cups all-purpose flour
Stir until a soft dough forms. Lightly flour a surface and roll out the dough to approximately ½-inch thickness. Cut out shapes with cookie cutters or make round cookies with a drinking glass. Bake on an ungreased cookie sheet for ten minutes or until golden brown.
SAWDUST PIE
The name of this pie and the fact that it contains lots of coconut won me over right away. I find that adults like
it more than children, and because it’s so sweet, a little piece goes a long way. It probably got its name because of the filling’s resemblance to the sawdust on the floors of Amish mills and woodshops. In A Simple Spring, Remy makes it for Adam, her woodworking beau.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Have your piecrust ready in a 9-inch pan. The crust should be crimped on the edges.
In a medium bowl, combine:
• 1½ cups shredded coconut
• 1½ cups graham cracker crumbs
• 1½ cups chopped pecans
• 1½ cups sugar
Mix in:
• 1 cup unbeaten egg whites (from 4–5 eggs)
Pour the filling into the unbaked pie shell. You may want to cover the edges with foil if you don’t like a browned crust. Bake for 35–40 minutes. Don’t worry if the pie seems moist inside when you take it out. Cool for at least 45 minutes to give the pie a chance to set.
NO-BAKE OATMEAL TURTLES OR AMISH FUNERAL COOKIES
Although I wasn’t raised Amish, I loved making these cookies as a child—probably because I didn’t have to wait around for them to bake and could lick the spoon. Some Amish folk came to call them funeral cookies because they could be prepared quickly and brought over to the grieving family. For me, turtles are a cross between fudge and a cookie. I like to think they’re almost healthful with all that oatmeal. In A Simple Winter, Mary mentions these cookies to Remy while she is baking.
In a medium saucepan, combine:
• ½ cup butter
A Simple Autumn: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel Page 32
