The Rescued

by Marta Perry

  How often had she wished that Isaac would open up more to her? And now she was the one keeping a secret. She looked at Rebecca—so happy with their purchases, looking forward to marriage with a man who adored her. And Barbie—still young, still dreaming impossible dreams of the man she’d marry. And here she was, hiding a secret from the man she loved more than anything, risking all their happiness because she didn’t see what else she could do.

  Lancaster County, August 1953

  Mattie’s hands clenched in her lap when the driver the bishop had hired to bring them to the school board meeting murmured that they were nearly there. Several other vehicles followed close behind them, also laden with the parents of children who would soon be forced to make this trip every day unless something changed.

  No, not parents, she corrected herself. Fathers. In an Amish household, it was normally the father who dealt with anything relating to the Englisch law. She was the only mother in the group.

  Still, at least she was not alone. Bishop Thomas sat in the front seat beside the driver, his weathered face serene, as if he was prepared to take whatever the Lord should send. She was in the middle of the rear seat, with Adam on one side and Ben’s daad on the other. Even as she had the thought, Adam caught her glance and gave her a small, encouraging nod.

  “There it is,” Bishop Thomas said. A sprawling yellow brick building had appeared ahead on the left, looking more like a factory than like any school Mattie had ever seen. Where were the simple clapboard building, the welcoming pictures in the windows, the school bell hanging by the door? To her eyes, used as she was to a simple four-room schoolhouse, this new building was enormous. She didn’t want to imagine her little Rachel finding herself lost in such a place.

  The car turned at a wide blacktop drive and swept past a lighted signboard. Welcome Back to School, it announced. Opening Day September 3. Mattie’s stomach seemed to turn over at the reminder. It was coming up fast. Too fast. She felt as if she were standing in the path of an oncoming train.

  Their driver stopped at the entrance to the building. Five long, shallow steps, edged on either side with a flat-topped concrete wall, led up to three sets of glass doors. Mattie’s imagination filled the scene with Englisch teenagers chattering on the steps and lounging on the walls at either side, the girls in their gathered skirts and ponytails, the boys with their short-cropped hair and collared shirts. What would they make of a few modestly garbed Amish scholars in their midst?

  She slid out of the car in Adam’s wake. The other vehicles had pulled up behind them, their occupants emerging. It almost looked like a church Sunday, with everyone in their dark clothing, their faces solemn.

  Bishop Thomas exchanged a few words with the driver as he waited until the others had assembled. He didn’t have to say anything to them about the meeting. They all knew why they were here, didn’t they?

  His gaze moved from face to face, as if assessing their readiness, and then he nodded. “We will go inside now.”

  They must have looked an odd group, filing through the glass doors into the huge, modern building. Mattie was grateful for Daad Jonah’s presence next to her and for Adam close behind her.

  Inside, the wide, tiled hallway was brightly lit and seemed to go on forever. She’d been in a hospital once when her mamm had to have an operation, and it had felt somewhat like this—footsteps echoing along hallways, apprehension building until it nearly choked her.

  The bishop started down the hall, apparently knowing where the meeting was to be held. They passed glass cases filled with photographs of school groups and what she supposed were sports trophies. They must have come from the smaller schools this one would replace. The memorabilia seemed to declare the importance of being the best, of winning, as if life were a competition.

  There was a sign directing people to a chemistry lab; another to a gymnasium. She peeked through a window at a classroom and saw an array of strange-looking equipment.

  Bishop Thomas hesitated at an open door for just a second, closing his eyes as if he was saying a silent prayer. Then he stepped into the lighted room beyond, and they followed him. Mattie stopped on the threshold, feeling an instant of panic, until Adam’s light touch on her arm moved her forward.

  A long table was set up at one end of the room with nine chairs placed behind it. Men clustered behind it in groups of two or three, talking, while at the end of the table sat a woman in a flowered dress and small hat arranging a notebook and pen in front of her. A few rows of folding chairs faced the front. Only one was occupied—by a bored-looking young man with a notebook and camera.

  For an instant, it seemed all sound and action in the room were suspended as everyone stared at the newcomers, and Mattie lowered her eyes at the curious gazes. We must look like an army of ants, she thought nervously, filing into the room in a long, black line.

  Bishop Thomas took the end seat in the second row and the rest of them moved in after him, finding chairs. Once again Mattie found herself with Adam on one side and Daad Jonah on the other. Had they planned it that way? She thought maybe they had, wanting her to feel secure.

  There was a hurried, whispered consultation in the front of the room, with a few furtive glances at them. Had the board not expected to see them? The bishop said he had notified the board president that they planned to attend.

  Several people seemed to argue in urgent whispers, and then the board members took their places. Each one had a folded paper sign in front of him bearing his name, and Mattie’s gaze focused on the name she’d already heard—Walter Graham, the board president.

  Mr. Graham’s square face and sagging jowls reminded Mattie irresistibly of a bulldog, and at the moment his face was flushed and his eyes narrowed. He looked both annoyed and perhaps a bit wary. He must have thought he’d settled the situation when he’d met with Bishop Thomas.

  All in all, she thought the board members’ expressions were somewhat like those of the bishop and ministers when faced with a difficult situation regarding one of the Leit. Maybe it was part of human nature to want things to run smoothly and to be made uneasy when they didn’t.

  Graham shot another glance at Bishop Thomas and then rapped on the table with his knuckles. “Come to order,” he commanded.

  Mattie’s stomach tightened again. If he demanded to know what they were doing here, what would the bishop say? At least she didn’t have to speak. No one expected that of her; she need only to sit here. The bishop had said that her presence would remind the board members that real people were affected by the decisions they made.

  But Graham seemed to have no such intent. Without looking up from the sheaf of papers in front of him, he rattled through what she supposed were the preliminaries of the meeting. He seemed to check items off on a list as he went, paying no attention at all to his audience.

  Some of his fellow board members were not so oblivious to the presence of the Amish. They slipped frequent glances toward them, and one youngish man, wearing a gray suit and a clerical collar, nodded in a welcoming way to Bishop Thomas.

  Mr. Graham rattled on. Mattie began to think he would finish the entire meeting without mentioning them when an interruption occurred.

  “Excuse me.” It was the man with the clerical collar. Mattie craned her neck to read his name sign—Reverend Michael Colby, it said. “I see that we have a number of visitors with us today, and it’s usual to address their concerns at this point in the agenda.”

  The board president’s face turned an alarming shade of red, but the minister seemed to ignore him as he turned to Bishop Thomas with a friendly smile.

  “It’s Bishop Thomas Beiler, right? How can the school board be of help to you and your people? Do you have a question you’d like to ask?”

  Bishop Thomas rose slowly to his feet. To Mattie he seemed an imposing figure with his lined face and long, graying beard. He seemed to have an unconscious authority no matter
in what company he found himself. Did the Englisch see him that way, as well?

  “Denke,” the bishop said. “I am here tonight with the parents of those of our children who have been ordered to attend this school next month. It is against our wishes and our tradition to have our children—”

  Graham cut him off. “We’ve been all through this! The state has mandated attendance at the public school provided by the district, to the minimum age as directed by the school code, and that ruling applies to everyone.”

  “Actually, it doesn’t,” the minister said, his tone mild. “Children who attend a private school or a church school aren’t required to come here.”

  “That doesn’t affect this situation.” Graham glared at the man. “These people just want to take their kids out of school at age fourteen so they can put them to work on their farms. This country is moving forward. We can’t afford to have half-educated, backward citizens. The Amish need to be like everyone else.”

  The minister seemed to listen attentively to his words, but then his gaze shifted back to Bishop Thomas. From the corner of her eye, Mattie noticed that the young man with the notebook and camera had begun scribbling furiously.

  “Will you explain to the board, Bishop Thomas, why the Amish community doesn’t want advanced education for your young people?”

  The bishop nodded, his face grave. “I’m glad to do so. We Amish choose to live separate from the world in obedience to the Bible. We wish our children to be taught the skills that are necessary for the lives they will live. They will be farmers and craftsmen, and they will be part of the Amish community. They don’t need advanced classes for that—better they should be learning how to run a farm or raise a family.”

  “But what harm will going to high school do? I mean, surely it doesn’t hurt anyone to be a little better educated, even if he isn’t going to use the information.”

  The questioner was one of the other board members, who had been silent until now. To her surprise, Mattie recognized him—it was Mr. Matthews, who ran the hardware store where the Amish shopped. He probably knew the Amish community as well as anyone. Surely he didn’t think they were backward.

  “We fear that if our children come here to school, they will be required to study subjects which are contrary to our beliefs, or that they will be forced to question our ways.”

  Bishop Thomas spoke with authority, and Mattie realized he must have been doing a great deal of thinking and praying about this situation. She concentrated on the board members, praying that they would listen and understand. She felt Adam shift slightly next to her, and a quick glance at his face told her that he was praying, too.

  “We are concerned that they will be laughed at because of their clothes and their habits. They would face such criticism willingly if necessary, but it’s not necessary. We fear that the school will teach them that competition, not cooperation, is right, even though it’s not an Amish value. We feel that our whole way of life is in danger if our children are forced into this school.”

  The minister nodded as if he understood, but Graham rapped on the table.

  “The board has already voted on this matter. It’s no longer up for discussion. Besides, it’s a question of fulfilling the requirements of the state. We can’t do anything for you.”

  Mattie watched the face of the young minister, but he was looking at Graham, who glared at him as if daring him to say another word. A silent battle seemed to ensue between the two men. Then Reverend Colby flushed slightly. He shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

  Mattie felt as if a door had been slammed in their faces. For a moment she’d thought there was a chance for them. Now it seemed there wasn’t.

  Her thoughts reached out in a silent prayer for guidance and strength. These trials were nothing compared to those of the martyrs who had been tortured and killed for their faith back in Europe in the early days. Still, the burden felt very heavy indeed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Judith glanced across the room as she finished tidying the kitchen that evening. Isaac sat at the study table, frowning earnestly at the papers in front of him, for all the world like one of the kinder absorbed in his schoolwork. This was a pleasant time of day, with the boys settled and the house quiet.

  Smiling a little, she hung up the dish towel and crossed the room to put her hand on Isaac’s strong, solid shoulder.

  “Doing your spelling words?”

  He looked up and grimaced. “I wish I were. This paperwork for the dairy gets more complicated every month, it seems like. And there’s more of it, too. It wonders me that we don’t all drown in a sea of paper.”

  “I know what you mean. It seems kind of foolish, too. The cows supply the milk, you deliver it to the dairy, and they bottle and sell it. Why do they need all these rules and regulations?” It was in the back of her mind to offer her help, but she wasn’t sure how Isaac would receive it.

  “Simple to you and me, maybe, but not to the health department or the occupational services people or the tax collectors.” He rubbed the back of his neck as if tension had set in there, and her heart moved.

  “Is there something I can do? Fill in some of the forms, maybe, if you showed me how?”

  “No.” His response was quick and short, and in an instant she saw that he thought he’d been too brusque. “Denke, sweetheart.” He captured her hand in his. “It’s gut of you to offer, but I should do it myself. You could cut me another piece of that peach pie, though.”

  “That’ll give you strength to get through it, ja?” Judith said the words lightly, not wanting him to know that his quick refusal had hurt.

  She cut the wedge of pie, reminding herself that she’d expected nothing else. Plenty of Amish husbands and wives worked together on family businesses. There was no reason why she couldn’t handle the dairy paperwork except that Isaac had such a strict view of the division between men’s work and women’s work in running a farm.

  Carrying the plate and a fork, Judith went back to the study table, preserving her smile. “Some milk or coffee with it?”

  “Milk would be gut.” He gave the papers another frown before shoving them away to make space for the pie. “You’d probably do a neater job of filling in these forms than I do. When we were in school, you always got the job of writing things on the board because you were such a neat printer.”

  Her smile became more genuine. “You were just too eager to get through the work and on to recess, that’s all. You were always the first one out to the school yard, holding a ball or a bat.”

  “Most likely so.” Isaac took an eager gulp of the milk she proffered, acting so like the boys for a moment. “All I wanted was to finish school and start working the farm with Daad. If I’d known all this was involved, maybe I’d have tried harder at the schoolwork.”

  Mentioning his father had brought a shadow to Isaac’s face, and she sought to find a means of chasing it away. “I think boys are more practical about learning than girls. Boys want to know only the things that interest them or they can use, but girls seem to enjoy finding out about all sorts of subjects. That was true for me, anyway.”

  He nodded. “Could be.” His expression softened. “Know what I remember about you?”

  Judith shook her head, hoping it was something nice.

  “I remember how good and patient you were when you helped out with the little ones. Teacher Emma said you’d make a fine teacher, but when I saw it, I thought you’d make a fine mother, and I was right.”

  Judith tried to show suitable appreciation of the rare compliment, but her heart seemed to be turning to ice. He’d looked at her even then and thought she’d make a good mother, and when he’d realized his small brother needed a mammi, he’d turned to her. She’d been the logical answer to his problem.

  Something—some need to provoke another response, maybe—urged her to speak. “Frederick Yoder told me once t
hat you’d snapped me up before any of the other boys had a chance.”

  Isaac’s face darkened. “He would. I think he had his eye on you all along.” He looked up at her, frowning. “When were you talking to Fred?”

  She shrugged, appalled that she’d let her pain push her into saying the one thing she shouldn’t. “Ach, I don’t know. I see him around, ja? His kinder are in school with Levi, after all.”

  “That Fred,” he muttered. “He flirts with every female he comes across. It wonders me that his wife lets him get away with it.”

  It would be nice to think Isaac was the teeniest bit jealous, but Judith couldn’t convince herself of it. “It’s just Fred’s way. Nobody pays any attention to it. If anyone ever took him seriously, he’d run the other direction. He’s a little like my cousin Barbie. She can’t help flirting, it seems.”

  Something seemed to tickle Isaac about comparing Fred with Barbie, because his expression eased. “I’m wonderful glad you’re not like your cousin. I wouldn’t want you flirting. And isn’t it about time Barbie picked someone and settled down?”

  “She’s young yet,” Judith said, trying not to think of her own concerns about Barbie. “One day she’ll fall in love, and that will end her flirting for good. But speaking of my cousins, Rebecca has asked me for some help.”

  “More wedding stuff?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Sort of. After their marriage, she and Matt want to start their weekend visits to the family, but she still has some guests scheduled for the farm-stay on a few weekends. She asked if I could help Barbie run the place.” She rushed on to what she considered the best part. “And she insists on paying me my fair share, too. Won’t that be nice? We can put the extra money toward the new equipment for the dairy.”

  Isaac didn’t respond immediately, turning his fork over in his hand. He was silent for long enough to make Judith feel chilled. “How can you find the time?” he said. “You have too much to do as it is, with all the canning and preserving and everything else. It’s all right for Barbie. She’s not married.”