Fields of Corn

by Sarah Price

  Chapter Thirteen

  Every afternoon, Shana took long walks around the farm, studying the land. She enjoyed breathing in the fresh winter air while temporarily escaping her household chores. After that first light snow melted, at Emanuel's suggestion, she'd take a bucket with her and collect loose rocks out of the fields that would hinder the spring plowing. When the bucket was full, she carried it to the creek and dumped the rocks into the rushing water.

  She enjoyed what Emanuel called helping him in the fields, even though she certainly didn't consider it work. She began to enjoy not being confined inside all day, a freedom that she had never experienced before. Her days were peaceful and quiet, not filled with senseless, false conversation. Instead, she spoke with senses other than her tongue, watching the clouds flutter across the sky or hover low to the horizon. She'd listen to the whistling wind that whipped around her ears, a vicious symphony that she had never heard before. No matter what Mother Nature posed at her, Shana began to see beauty and peace surrounding the farm, rather than the isolation and loneliness she had originally feared.

  The farm, located off a winding, narrow back road, did not welcome many passing cars or visitors. An occasional buggy trotted by their lane but, otherwise, silence surrounded the farm. When the cows were outside the barn, she could hear them mooing or stamping their feet. The two mules and the horses might occasionally whinny, a momentary break in the noiseless calm. In the house, the steady clicking of the grandfather clock kept her company. Every fifteen minutes, the chimes reverberated throughout the house, reminding her that time was constant and she had plenty of it ahead of her. Occasionally when working in the house, Shana longed for her small radio, more from the constant lack of companionship than for the actual music. But, knowing Emanuel's certain objection, she kept her wishes as quiet as the farm.

  Most nights, while supper cooked, Shana would join Emanuel in the barn. She loved watching him milk the cows. He was so gentle and patient. No longer did the thick stench of cow manure offend Shana's nose. Instead, she found it soothing and, whenever she did notice it, the odor welcomed rather than repulsed her. These animals were their livelihood, extensions of their family. Occasionally, she'd try to sneak up behind Emanuel and, standing in the shadows of the doorway, watch Emanuel as he sat patiently, talking in his soft, milking voice to the cow.

  "Cold hands, aye?" he murmured to the cow. As if in response, the cow lifted her back leg and stomped her hoof on the cement floor. "Can't be that bad, missy. Come on now. Thatta girl," he cooed. Shana smiled. The milk streamed out of the cow's teat and tinkled against the metal bucket. She sensed Emanuel's pleasure that, as he talked to the cow, she gave in to his gentle pulling.

  "Your turn now, Shana."

  "And I thought I had been so quiet!" she teased, stepping out the shadows.

  "I sensed you." He glanced over his shoulder and smiled, returning her tease. "And your perfume helped, too."

  He stood up so that she could sit down at the stool. Most nights, Shana carried the full buckets to the holding container that continually ran off the generator in the back room of the barn. Still uncomfortable with milking, she cautiously reached out and laid her hand on the cow's udder. She laughed and pulled away at first but, Emanuel leaned forward and, taking a hold of her hand, persisted.

  "Remember how? Just squeeze it like this," he prodded patiently. A trickle of milk dripped out. "Vell, almost like this. Practice," he announced. "That's what you need." He sat behind her, crouched on the very back of the stool. Shana fit neatly between his legs, her back pressed against his chest. Both of his arms around her, he continued helping her milk the cow. "I think you're finally getting it," he whispered hoarsely into her ear.

  His warm breath sent a shiver down her spine and she leaned back against him, his lips sweeping against her neck. The roughness of his growing beard grazed her skin and goose bumps ran up her arms. She shut her eyes and tilted her head slightly, just enough to rub her cheek against his. She breathed in his scent, the all too familiar mixture of the outdoors and Emanuel. Her heart beat inside of her chest and she felt energy pulse through her veins.

  The warm stream of milk tinkled against the side of the metal bucket but Shana didn't pay attention. Being near him caused her to catch her breath. She felt his hand brush against her leg, reaching up to gently rub her arm. His touch burned her skin in a way that caused her sigh, enjoying the moment of intimacy. But, as soon as his touch was there, it disappeared. Quickly, he stood up and turned away from her.

  "I fully expect all of these cows milked and their stalls cleaned by supper," he teased, his voice still raspy and his face flushed. "Now that you know how, I guess you're hired, then." As if sensing her disappointment, he touched her cheek and smiled, lowering his tone to a serious level. "If you help me tonight, we can get finished twice as quickly."

  Trying to calm her racing heart, she accepted his hidden apology with a soft smile as the color flooded to her cheeks. Always work before pleasure on a farm, she thought. So, with a simple nod, she took a deep breath and set back to work at milking the patient cow before her.

  Most nights after the cows had been milked and the horses bedded down, Emanuel would sit for a while at the kitchen table, reading the paper in the dim light from the kerosene lamp or talking with Shana until they retired to bed. But twice after the first major snowfall had melted from the roads, Emanuel harnessed Lucky Monday and took Shana for a night ride. In the increasing bitter cold, they would snuggle under the lap blanket, Emanuel patiently trying to teach Shana how to drive the horse while Shana just enjoyed being near him.

  A month after they had married, Emanuel sold his older horse and purchased a beautiful black Morgan with Shana's money, putting the rest aside for a new buggy in the springtime. "She's beautiful," Shana whispered as she stared at the magnificent creature in the clean stall. The horse lifted her head, neighing loudly as though answering Shana's compliment. With a timid hand, Shana reached out to rub the horse's nose. "Does she have a name?"

  "Lady Priscilla," he answered, leaning against Lucky Monday's stall as he watched Shana meeting her new horse. "But you can call her anything you wish."

  "I think I'll just call her Lady," Shana mused, running her fingers down Lady's sleek neck. The horse nuzzled at the long, neat braid that hung down Shana's back. Laughing, Shana reached for her braid and backed away. "Certainly is frisky, isn't she?"

  "She's only five." Emanuel started to walk out of the stable, waiting for Shana to tear herself away from Lady. For a moment, he stood in the doorway, watching Shana until, a glow on her face, she turned to join him. "Later tonight, we'll go for a ride in the fields, ja? For now, I must finish my chores in the barn."

  Taking his cue, Shana hurried into the house and started to prepare supper. She kept glancing at the kitchen clock as she wished Emanuel would finish his chores so they could eat the evening meal and go riding. Even in the cold of winter, she found herself anticipating the ride. With no crops in the fields, she could imagine Emanuel and herself racing each other around the farm.

  She thought back to those summer nights during what she now recognized was their courtship, the nights when they had ridden together at night. She had loved the feeling of his arms around her but had always wished for the glory of speed. He had been so cautious, afraid to scare her. Tonight she'd get to know Lady, introduce the horse to the farm and let the animal run free. But the harder she wished for Emanuel return home, the longer she seemed to wait. Finally, her supper growing cold and the sun already faded from the sky outside her kitchen window, Emanuel stomped into the kitchen.

  Holding in her disappointment, Shana dished his plate and carried it to the table after he sat down. With the sky so dark, there would be no ride in the fields. But Emanuel did not seem to notice her silence. Instead, he quickly ate and excused himself to go bathe. With a gentle shrug of her shoulders, Shana cleared their dishes and cleaned the kitchen. There's always tomorrow, she told herself. But the n
ext day was Sunday and there was no horse riding on the Lord's day, regardless of whether it was a church Sunday or off-Sunday.

  While Emanuel had refused his baptism, he had talked to one of the local elders in their new church district about attending an occasional service. After two weeks of deliberating, the elders agreed to their attendance at the bi-weekly services as long as they sat quietly in the back of the room and knew they could not participate in the foot washing ceremonies.

  Shana had not argued with Emanuel about his wishes to attend church. It was important to him and, for that reason, Shana donned her plainest dress and pinned her hair back in a neat bun. She hurried down to the kitchen where Emanuel waited. He wore his freshly brushed, plain black suit and a black hat on his head. And, even though the clothes seemed slightly outlandish to Shana, she smiled anyway, pleased to see him so happy.

  "Do I look plain?" she asked as she shut the door to the stairwell. Her black dress with small black buttons down the front almost appeared to be an Amish dress. Had she worn the white prayer cap and had her forehead not been shadowed by bangs, she knew that she could have been mistaken for an Amish woman.

  "Ja, you look plain enough," he replied solemnly, his voice hoarse. But Shana knew from the sparkle in his eye that he, too, was pleased.

  They walked down the road to one of the neighboring farms. Several shiny black buggies passed them, young children hanging out of the back open window despite the cold air. The horses neighed and snorted, their breath forming misty clouds around their noses. Their hooves hit the macadam as they raced by the walking couple, the soothing clippity-clop fading away the further the buggy traveled. Occasionally a car would slowly pass them, for the most part gawking tourists who would stare at Emanuel and Shana. Apparently, even in the cold, tourists came in droves, eager to learn about the Amish, regardless of the season or weather.

  As they approached the farm, Shana glanced nervously at Emanuel. His reassuring calm soothed her, giving her a strength she never realized she had. Pushing her shoulders back, Shana followed Emanuel into the farmhouse as almost a hundred inquisitive eyes met hers. For a moment, she felt as she had that night when Emanuel had taken her to the volleyball game at the barn. Except, this time, there was no hidden speculation about their relationship. This time, they entered the room so steeped with curiosity as husband and wife.

  Feeling more confident, Shana held her head high and nodded at the few familiar faces that she saw. Then, as Emanuel had instructed her, Shana sat in the back of the kitchen on a hard bench behind the other woman. She lost sight of Emanuel in the sea of people and, as she smiled at a small child who stared over his mother's shoulder at the strange Englischer, Shana wondered if he sat in front of her with the other men. But, all of the men wore the same black hat and Shana could not recognize Emanuel.

  For the three hour German sermon, Shana sat quietly, her hands folded and placed on her lap, her eyes lifted and staring straight ahead. She understood nothing yet she understood everything. The elder's strange sounding words somehow made sense to her and, when everyone else bowed their heads in silent prayer, Shana found herself praying with them. When the people sang, their untrained voices lifting in unison to praise their Lord, Shana found herself wishing she knew the words to join them. The power in the house of unity, of peace, of good will, increased with every syllable in their songs and every word in the sermon. And Shana began to understand, as she looked around at the seriousness on the people's faces, the trust in their eyes.

  After the church service, the other members readied themselves for the midday meal. Shana recognized one of her neighbors and, forcing herself to fight her insecurities, walked over to the stout younger woman. "We haven't formally met yet but I've seen you driving past our farm," Shana started.

  "You must be the young Lapp's Englische wife, then?" Like other Amish women, her voice was soft yet full of strength. Her casual reference to Shana being Englische did not sound condemning or insulting but, rather, matter of fact.

  "Shana Lapp."

  “Ja, you are Emanuel’s Shana,” the Amish woman said as though to remember the name. Then, after a brief hesitation, she returned Shana's smile and introduced herself. "Ana Lantz."

  "Which farm do you live on?" Shana asked.

  "Just up the hill from yours." A young child, no older than four, scurried over and clung to Ana's skirt. "Been a change for you, ja?"

  "Just a little," Shana replied to the woman's forward question. But Shana couldn't help smiling. "It's very quiet."

  "You were from the city, then?"

  "Outside of the city, you could say."

  "Vell, come visit sometime." Ana smiled one last time before giving in to the child at her side.

  Shana retreated, feeling lost in the wave of black clad people. They all looked the same and talked the same yet, Shana knew, each of them lived and loved as individually as the people from her own natural culture. Her eyes drifted over their freshly washed faces with clear complexions and shiny foreheads. The women congregated together while the smaller children had the liberty to run back and forth between the women and the men until, their laughter too loud, their parents gently reprimanded them.

  She caught sight of Emanuel, standing in a small circle of older men. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him. My husband, she thought and smiled to herself. He was talking intently with the man she recognized as the district bishop. The bishop stroked his beard and looked thoughtfully at Emanuel. Finally, he nodded and slapped him good-naturedly on the back. Then, the small circle broke up.

  Shortly afterwards, Emanuel found Shana and led her out of the farmhouse. They walked back to their farm in silence. Emanuel seemed deep in thought and, respecting that, Shana wandered in her own revelation. Her back ached and she had a slight stomachache, but her heart felt soothed as though some of the burden she had been feeling lifted from her shoulders. She realized that, without having understood one word of the sermon, she had understood it all. And, in the process, she had taken one step closer to understanding a side of Emanuel she hadn't been given the chance to learn: the religious side.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Late December's cold weather came with such vengeance that Shana dreaded crawling out of bed in the mornings. Without a heating system, the cold seemed to hover inside the house, digging deep into her bones. She had never known such misery as each morning when she woke up and often wondered how a house could get so cold. She'd lay in bed, buried beneath a high pile of quilts as she listened for Emanuel to start the kerosene heater in the kitchen before he headed out into the winter bitterness to tend to his morning chores.

  Most days, after the morning milking and cleaning, he spent in the house with Shana. With the winter, he couldn't work outside and most of the barn was too cold to spend any unnecessary time. Twice during those cold weeks in December, they drove the hour ride to visit at Jonas and Katie's farmhouse and to share the midday meal.

  Shana silently fought her personal trepidation at going to Emanuel's old home, too aware of the tension with her in-laws. Their marriage had been treated with a touch of distance and a lack of warmth toward her. It was to be expected, she knew, and she couldn't really complain since Katie and Jonas were always hospitable. However, after Katie had offered to share some recipes for canning fruits and vegetables on their first visit, Shana began to wonder if the distance and apparent coldness was typical of the Amish and not to be taken personally. On the second visit, Shana decided this must be the reason especially when, upon learning that Shana had attended an Amish church, Katie invited their son and his non-Amish wife to attend one of the services in their own district.

  So, the following church Sunday, they dressed in their best and. leaving the house at quarter to seven, they drove to a farm near the Lapp farm. Shana was surprised to realize that Emanuel was extra elated to be returning to workshop with his old friends. He was happier than she had seen him to be returning home to his former community.

  Dur
ing the service, once again, Shana found herself seated alone on a hard bench in the very back of the kitchen. The men sat in the partitioned room and the woman sat in front of Shana. The sermon was, once again, in High German and she found herself envious that she could not understand the elder. Feeling alienated, she drifted into her own thoughts about God and the reasons behind His ways.

  After the sermon, Lillian approached Shana. Her stomach now swelled enough that her clothing stretched tightly and Shana wondered how long before her second child was due. "Haven't seen you in a while," Lillian said. The friendliness in her voice warmed Shana. "You mustn't let the cold frighten you away and must come visiting more often."

  “And you, as well," Shana invited. She wondered if, had Lillian not been Amish, they would have been better friends. Her gentle way with Linda and easy laughter pained Shana, almost making her wish they were more alike so they could, indeed, be closer.

  "Katie says you've attended church in your district already."

  Shana nodded. "Two weeks ago, yes."

  "How do you like sitting still for so long on those hard benches?" Lillian asked teasingly.