The Preacher's Daughter

by Patricia Johns

  “How are you doing?” Jeff asked. “I was informed about the attack you suffered. I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Yah.” Solomon licked his lips. “I’m healing up. I’m okay.”

  “You can always come to see me in between appointments, you know,” Jeff said. “If I can help—”

  “No, I’m fine,” Solomon said quickly.

  Jeff nodded. “Okay, well, I have you enrolled in the GED course, and I have an appointment set up for you to meet with the Catholic priest who is running the local outreach. Now, will you be staying with your family for the foreseeable future, or will you need other accommodations?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Solomon replied. “I’ll have to see what the bishop says, I guess.”

  “Let me know,” Jeff replied. “I work with a social worker who can help you arrange something else if you need it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jeff was silent for a moment, then he pursed his lips in thought. “The priest did say that they have some work you could start on early, with the understanding that you’ll be enrolled in school in the next three weeks.”

  “Really?” Solomon straightened. “I’d like that.”

  “It’s office work,” Jeff said. “Do you have any experience with computers?”

  Solomon felt his optimism wane. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Jeff replied. “Well, this is a good way to get some of that experience. It’s some simple data inputting. It might help to learn how to type—in fact, typing will help you in your GED studies, too. Are you willing to learn?”

  Typing, computers—the very thought was intimidating, but this was his chance at a better life.

  “Yah, I’m willing,” Solomon replied.

  “You’ll get paid once a week, and this is the address of the parish,” Jeff said, holding out a slip of paper. “They’re expecting you.”

  “When?” Solomon asked.

  “As soon as you’re willing to start work.”

  He nodded. “Thank you. I need this!”

  In fact, if he could be bringing some money home to his grandmother, maybe the bishop would see the benefit in letting Solomon live at home for a while. It was worth a shot. Until he had a proper job that would pay enough to let him rent an apartment of his own at least. It wasn’t too likely that a roommate would want to live with an ex-convict—he wasn’t too keen on living with an ex-convict himself. This had to be a proper fresh start.

  “Now, I feel like I need to impress upon you that this chance you’re getting to work with the church is dependent upon you sticking to the rules. They are interested in helping a convict rehabilitate if he’s dedicated to bettering himself. So if there are any broken curfews, any missed appointments with me, any drinking, drugs, or trouble with the police, your chance is over and they move on to someone else. There are no extra strikes here. Do you understand?”

  One chance—one very generous chance . . .

  “Yes, I do.”

  Jeff nodded. “Good. Have a good week. And if you need to get in touch with me, please do. I’m always willing to help.”

  “Thank you.”

  Solomon rose and headed for the door. Gott was providing for him, one step at a time, and he felt a wave of gratitude. He wasn’t going to be alone in this.

  Outside the air-conditioned office, the day was hot already. He looked at the address on the slip of paper. He knew where the Catholic church was. It was a rather ornate building on the far end of Main Street. There wasn’t any Amish parking there, though. But he had his horses settled with water and shade in the buggy parking lot, so he might as well walk.

  As he headed up the street, he felt a strange sense of freedom. The last time he’d ventured away from the Amish life, he’d gone straight to the gutter. But this time he’d have guidance. Young people spurned advice, but Solomon had experienced enough that he was grateful for it now.

  And he was deeply grateful for a paying job.

  As he passed the farming surplus store, he slowed when he saw Johannes come out the front door, a bag in one hand. Johannes gave him a nod.

  “Hi,” Solomon said, stopping beside his cousin. “How are you doing?”

  “Good.” Johannes smiled. “Just picking up some new suspenders for my wedding.”

  “Right!” Solomon grinned. “Are you excited?”

  “I’m terrified,” Johannes replied, but he shrugged. “But I’ll be terrified with new suspenders.”

  Solomon chuckled. A wedding in the family—an Amish excuse to celebrate. Johannes was starting a new stage of life and would be bringing everyone together to share in the joy . . . It would be a celebration where Solomon would see extended family from other communities, and that thought was an uncomfortable one.

  “Fresh starts are always a little terrifying,” Solomon said. “For me, too.”

  “Yah, I suppose,” Johannes agreed. “What are you doing in town?”

  “I was seeing my parole officer,” Solomon replied.

  “Oh . . .” Johannes nodded, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

  “It’s how it’s done—leaving prison,” Solomon said.

  “Okay.” Solomon sighed. His entire existence was going to be uncomfortable for both his family and the community. Johannes marrying a stranger was fine apparently, but a man returned from prison left everyone frozen with uncertainty.

  “And I’m off to start a job,” Solomon added. “I hope I’m starting today, at least. I’ve been promised one.”

  “Really?” Johannes squinted. “Where?”

  “The Catholic church is getting me started with some office work,” Solomon replied. “Computer stuff, they say.”

  “Oh!” Johannes squinted. “A Catholic church . . .”

  “They’re offering me help,” Solomon said. “They helped me in prison, too. I can’t afford to turn it down.”

  More than that, he didn’t want to turn down the job. There was a level of kindness in the offer that had softened him. Sure, the Catholic church was the furthest from Amish possible in Christendom, but he’d found something there that he hadn’t realized he’d needed until he was at his lowest—grace.

  “You wouldn’t rather fix a fence?” his cousin asked.

  “There aren’t that many day jobs available,” Solomon said. “Yah, maybe I’d rather fix a fence or milk some cows or muck out some stalls—but I need steady pay, and I need to build a life. Sometimes you don’t get the job you want, you work the job you’re given. And you’re grateful for it.”

  “I understand that,” Johannes said. “We all have to build a life somehow. Will I see you at my wedding?”

  “Is that an invitation?” Solomon asked.

  “You don’t need a formal invitation. You’re family. Of course I want you at my wedding.”

  This might be the last Amish invitation he received for a long time, and that thought saddened him.

  “I’ll be there,” Solomon said.

  As he and Johannes parted ways, Solomon headed on up the road in the direction of that small but ornate Catholic church. And he was reminded of the priest who sat with him in the prison chapel—a middle-aged man with a thoughtful way of speaking that reminded Solomon just a little bit of the bishop.

  God isn’t surprised by anything, Solomon. He knows where you are and why. He knows what will befall you, and He knows where He is leading you, if you’ll listen to His voice. And sometimes where He leads us can seem so incredibly unlikely. I never thought I’d be a priest, you know. I wanted to be a race car driver, once upon a time.... Yet here I am. In God’s hands. Right where I’m supposed to be.

  And here was Solomon, in Gott’s hands, right where he was supposed to be.

  If Gott was leading him away from his Amish life, what was waiting for him out there in the wilderness with the Englishers? And was it terrible that he was starting to feel excited about it?

  * * *

  Elizabeth pinched the edge of the piecrust, the dough molding t
o her touch. These were for the wedding that was happening in a week’s time. The community freezer—a wagon-drawn, gas-powered freezer—had been brought out of storage for the occasion, and the pies, once put together and covered in plastic, would be frozen until a couple of days before the wedding, when they’d thaw them all out and begin baking. It was a process they all knew by heart.

  How many weddings had Elizabeth helped to bake for? They felt countless. How many friends had she watched take their vows? She’d stood with three friends as their newehocker, and she’d been deeply happy to see each of them settle down into family life, but she’d also been praying for her own future family. She wanted a husband of her own, and a baby in her arms. Lord, while You bless her, please don’t forget me. . . .

  But this wedding was different. This wedding was the community’s response to Lovina’s lengthy absence and it felt wrong.

  Elizabeth couldn’t ask Gott to bless her as He was blessing Sovilla and Johannes. She didn’t want an arranged marriage while her heart was elsewhere. She wanted a real marriage—a love connection with a man who would look at her with adoring eyes while she undid her braid in the morning that kept her hair from tangling during the night. She wanted the kind of marriage where she looked forward to her husband coming in after a long day of work, where his kisses could make her feel like jelly.

  She wanted all of it—a man respected in his community, a man who could give her a life of Amish goodness. She wanted her turn at long last.

  The day wore on, and Bridget and Elizabeth made pie after pie and then moved on to baking buns. When Solomon’s buggy finally pulled into the drive, Elizabeth felt a wave of longing. He’d been gone a long time and she could only wonder what had kept him.

  “Is that Sol?” Bridget asked, looking up from some rolls she was forming into balls.

  “Yah, that’s him,” Elizabeth said, looking out the screen door.

  “It’s almost dinnertime . . . Oh, he’ll be hungry, too. Dear, would you do me a favor?” Bridget asked. “I’m going to start dinner—something quick. Would you go get the eggs for me?”

  “Yah.” Elizabeth nodded. “Of course.”

  “Thank you—oh my, the time just flies . . .” Bridget murmured, and she flung a towel over the dough for it to rise once more and headed to the sink to wash her hands.

  Elizabeth opened the side door, wire basket in hand, and headed out just as Solomon jumped down from the buggy. He shot her a smile.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “What took so long?” she asked. “I thought you had a quick appointment.”

  “I started a job,” he replied, and he shot her a grin. “I didn’t know about it until I met with my parole officer. It’s at the Catholic church. They’re teaching me to . . .” He hesitated, then cast her an apologetic look. “They’re teaching me to use a computer.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “So . . . you’re starting out English, then?”

  He was silent.

  “Are you?” she pressed. “Are you starting an Englisher life, with computers and . . . and . . . other churches? If that’s what you’re doing, then admit it to me. Just say so.”

  “Yah.” He licked his lips. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  His words hit her like a blow to the gut. She’d known this was the direction he was taking, and yet it still hurt to see him doing it. Because it was still a choice, and it would draw a very firm line between them.

  Solomon glanced down at the egg basket in her hand. “Let me unhitch. We’ll talk, okay? I’ll meet you at the chicken house.”

  So, Solomon had begun. It seemed so innocuous. Just a day away from home and he came back looking just as Amish as ever . . . but she could feel a change in him, too. He was a little stronger somehow, and a little more certain of himself . . . but that dark gaze of his was the same, pinning her down with its intensity.

  “Sol, you shouldn’t do this”—she started—“computers and Englisher jobs—there’s got to be another way! You haven’t looked for it!”

  “Lizzie . . .” His voice was soft. “Let me unhitch.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. The horses needed a rest, and water and silage. And she felt inside her that she was asking something of him—demanding something of him . . . she just didn’t know what. She was leaving, too, wasn’t she?

  Without another word, Elizabeth headed off toward the coop, glancing over her shoulder as Solomon started to unhitch.

  Elizabeth would leave Bountiful—that was most certain—and she’d miss Solomon deeply, she knew. She might very well find herself in Johannes’s position, marrying a very good person while her heart stubbornly clung to another, less-deserving one.

  Because Lovina, while her family loved her fiercely, had let everyone down. She’d abandoned them for an Englisher life while they faced the unfairness of their fate head-on. Lovina had left a man who loved her so dearly that he’d grieved her leaving like a death.

  And Solomon, for all his bravery, had a wild heart that wouldn’t be tamed, even by prison. He was going English, even now. Computers at a Catholic church? His clothes might be familiar, and his hat might allow him to blend in with the Amish, but he was already starting out on a new path that would take him away. Straight to perdition, some would say.

  The bitter irony was that this was the one time Elizabeth couldn’t pray her prayer to be blessed the same as others and it would be answered. Who was she to judge Johannes and Sovilla for their arranged marriage? She’d be little better when her turn came. What divine cruelty. Or perhaps it was just the rain falling on everyone—a broken heart being the great equalizer.

  Elizabeth nudged a hen aside and pulled out a warm egg. The chicken coop was hot and dry. The hens squawked irritably as Elizabeth collected the eggs, gently placing them in the wire basket. Her nose tickled and she rubbed it with the back of one wrist. When she’d collected all the eggs, she went back out into the fresh air.

  Solomon had finished with the horses, and she watched as he patted the flank of one large quarter horse, sending it out into the field. He looked up as if he’d felt her gaze on him, then he headed in her direction.

  “So?” she said as he reached her.

  “What do you want me to say?” he asked.

  “I want an explanation,” she said. “You came home, Sol! You came back, and your mother is on her way.... Your grandmother has been praying for you so fervently—did you know that?”

  “Yah, I know,” Solomon replied.

  “I thought Johannes found you at least a day of work—”

  “Which we wouldn’t have had if I didn’t know how to drive a truck,” he said, cutting her off. “If I’d been sticking to all the Amish ways, we wouldn’t have had that day of work.”

  “Oh . . .” She felt tears of frustration rising up inside her.

  “Lizzie, I can’t be an Amish farmer! Or a carpenter, or . . . or . . . a businessman. I can’t! They won’t accept me—”

  “You haven’t waited long enough,” she said. “It takes time for people to forgive. You have to wait—”

  “Accept my punishment from the community, you mean,” he interrupted.

  “Maybe.” She straightened her shoulders.

  “Prison wasn’t punishment enough?” he demanded. “I have to accept more? I have to bow under their derision for a few more years until they think they can let it go?”

  Elizabeth felt her eyes mist. “Maybe I was hoping your grandmother was right.”

  “About what?” he asked.

  “That Gott was still working and that a miracle was possible, and that you’d find your place and settle back in, and . . .”

  “And watch you leave?” he asked gruffly. “What a beautiful homecoming, where I settle in for what, Lizzie? To be alone here? To keep my grandmother company while you head off to Indiana or Ohio or wherever you decide to find that ideal Amish man of yours?”

  Elizabeth looked toward the house and Solomon caught her hand and tugged her behind the c
hicken coop and out of sight of the kitchen windows. She tugged her hand free of his grip and glared up at him.

  “Since when did you come home for me?” she demanded.

  “I didn’t!” he retorted. “I came home to see my mother, and to find some redemption of some sort.... I didn’t come for you! But that doesn’t change that we’ve developed something—”

  “Developed what?” she demanded. “When your grandmother saw us in the kitchen and she lectured me afterward, she thought you’d been making promises to me . . . that you’d been talking marriage and kinner. I told her you hadn’t been, and do you know what she said to me? She said, then what are you doing?” Elizabeth shook her head. “There are no promises between us, Sol!”

  Solomon caught her hand again and pulled her against him. His lips came down over hers in a hard, heartbroken kiss. He slipped his fingers behind her neck, and when he pulled back, she saw tears glistening in his eyes.

  “Are you saying that what we feel is nothing?” he breathed.

  “It has no future and you know it!” she shot back. “There are no agreements, no promises, no—”

  “Come with me,” he said hoarsely.

  “What?”

  “Come with me,” he said, and he pulled her closer. “I promised your father I wouldn’t do this, but not every life is meant to be lived Amish. There are good people out there, Lizzie. I’ve made too many mistakes to give you any kind of Amish life here . . . but I can get an education. I’m starting in a few weeks! I’ve got a job that will pay me enough to get a tiny apartment, and you could come with me . . .”

  “And do what?” she breathed, her heart suspended in her chest.

  “We didn’t make promises yet,” he whispered. “I know that . . . We both tried to stop feeling this, and to be reasonable. But it didn’t work, did it? So let’s make a few promises!”

  “I can’t promise to leave Bountiful and run off with my Englisher boyfriend!” she said. “No!”

  “I’m not asking you to run off with your boyfriend,” he whispered. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

  Her heart thudded to a stop.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Solomon stared down at her, the words hanging between them. He hadn’t realized he’d even said them out loud before the words came out of his mouth, and now that he was looking down into those shocked eyes, his breath was stuck in his chest, waiting.... She didn’t move, though, and he licked his lips.