The Calling

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Then suddenly the boys were upon them, jerking Galen out of his all-too-brief nap. Juice ran down their faces and onto their shirts.

  “You’re more the color of berries than boys,” her mom said. Sammy smiled, his teeth white in his purple face. She gave him a cake of Ivory soap. “Get in the lake and scrub the stains off. Luke, watch your brother.”

  The boys dove into the lake in their berry-stained shirts. When Luke came to the surface, he let out a whoop that echoed off the trees. He went under again and stayed down a long time before coming up in the middle of the lake. Sammy, not as skilled a swimmer, stayed in shallow water with the bar of soap in his hand and watched his brother rise up and down in the water like a whale.

  “I don’t think Luke’s got stain scrubbing on his mind,” Galen said.

  The three of them sat side by side in the quiet, watching the boys as they swam. “Jimmy Fisher’s been teaching the boys to swim this summer,” her mother said. “Trying, anyway. They exasperate Jimmy. Luke, especially.”

  Galen glanced over at Mim. “Notice anything different about Jimmy lately?”

  “Like what?”

  “He’s . . . distracted. Off his feed.” Galen stretched one ankle over the other. “The kind of work we’re doing with Thoroughbreds—he has to keep his mind on the job.” He looked directly at Mim. “Anything you’re aware of going on with Jimmy? A new girlfriend?”

  Mim had a pretty good idea what was nettling Jimmy. “Naomi said his mother’s back in town.”

  Galen’s dark eyebrows lifted. “I hadn’t thought of that. I saw her at church this morning. She came to visit Naomi last week.”

  “She’s moved back,” Mim’s mom said, brushing some leaves off her dress. “Her new husband passed and she decided to return to Stoney Ridge. And her older son Paul moved with his new bride to her family’s home.”

  “That’s awful sudden,” Galen said.

  “Quite,” Mim added, though her mother raised an eyebrow at her. It was true, though. Tongues had been wagging about it all week. “I heard that the last straw was when Edith Fisher starched and ironed Paul’s underwear. The next day, they said they were moving.”

  “Mim, don’t tell tales.”

  Galen stretched out his legs. “I suppose I’d move on too, real quick, if someone were to starch and iron my underwear.”

  “When it comes to a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law, it’s never just about the starched underwear.”

  Mim’s head popped up like it was on a spring. For days, she’d been puzzling how to answer a letter to Mrs. Miracle. Her mom had just crafted her the perfect response.

  Galen’s mouth lifted in a slight smile. “Edith Fisher always did cast quite a shadow on her boys.” Then he became silent again and their attention turned to the boys splashing around in the water. After a while, her mother insisted they come out of the water and dry off.

  “Are you hungry?” Mim’s mother asked, spreading a feast out on the blanket.

  “Always,” Galen said.

  Out of a basket, she pulled fried chicken, deviled eggs, macaroni salad, watermelon, and her special blueberry buckle for dessert. The boys, wrapped in towels, pinned down the edges. Chase was banished to the outer perimeter, watching hopefully for any scraps that might be dropped.

  A few hours later, after they had returned home and the remains of the picnic basket were put away, Mim slipped up to her room and pulled out the typewriter. She took out the manila envelope of letters to Mrs. Miracle that she kept hidden under her mattress.

  Dear Mrs. Miracle,

  Last night, my husband and I had our first fight. It was over the silliest thing: whether to have eggs scrambled or fried. It’s been four days and we still can’t agree.

  What should I do?

  Thanks to her mother’s keen insight, Mim knew just how to answer:

  Dear What Should I Do,

  It’s never about the eggs . . .

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Miracle

  5

  For no reason, between one stride and the next, Jimmy Fisher’s prize stallion, Lodestar, suddenly rolled out of his easy gait into a flying buck. Jimmy had been exercising Lodestar on a lead rope, relaxed and calm, but somehow this horse had sensed that he had his mind on other things. He bucked, then reared, and as the rope slipped out of Jimmy’s hands, Lodestar took the opportunity to jump the fence and gallop off into the woods.

  Aggravating! This horse was conditioned by his former owner, the slippery Jake Hertzler, to be a “runner” and it was taking all of Jimmy’s efforts to break him of that habit. In a way, Lodestar’s independent streak pleased Jimmy—he had never cared for totally docile horses. He liked an animal that was as alert as he was—or, in this stallion’s case, even more alert. Jimmy had been aware of his own preoccupations, whereas he had had no inkling of Lodestar’s intentions. He had no doubt the horse would try bolting again and again.

  Jimmy jumped the fence and grabbed a bucket of oats he kept handy for Lodestar, then ran into the woods, whistling for him. He knew the horse wouldn’t go far from the barn—he always exercised Lodestar right before feeding time for that very reason. That horse may like his freedom, but even he wouldn’t pass up a bucket of oats.

  As he walked into the woods, his thoughts drifted back to all that filled his mind. The last few days, something was rolling around inside Jimmy Fisher, making him tense and snappish. He could do nothing with Lodestar lately. Horses took on his mood, and Galen had taught him that those weren’t the days to do the work of training. Galen’s spirit was quiet and calm and the horses sensed that. Jimmy had worked with Galen long enough to know that if he could mirror that calm, the horses calmed too. Those were the days he made progress in training. Especially with Lodestar.

  All week, Jimmy Fisher had been working from sunup to sundown at Galen King’s and he was happy to do so because he didn’t want to go home. His mother had moved back to the family farm at Stoney Ridge and his new sister-in-law lasted only a week. He had overheard the argument between Paul and LaWonna.

  “It’s been two days,” LaWonna was telling Paul, “and your mother has told me I do everything wrong, from the way I fold your shirts to how I spread jam on bread. Every blessed thing! Paul, I can not live under your mother’s thumb for the rest of my life! I just can’t do it. No woman could!”

  The following day, Paul told his mother and Jimmy that he’d been given a wonderful opportunity to manage LaWonna’s parents’ farm in Canada. And they’d be leaving immediately.

  For the first time in his life, Jimmy was the sole focus of his mother. Paul was no longer the buffer between them. She wanted Jimmy to give up the horse breeding business and take over the full management of the hatchery. That hatchery was supposed to be Paul’s life work. Jimmy’s life work was going to be all about horses.

  Be a full-time chicken farmer? No thank you.

  And then there was his love life. His mother was working overtime to encourage Jimmy to court the girl she had picked out for him: Naomi King. Now, Naomi was a sweet girl, and in a certain light she might be considered pretty, but Jimmy liked fire in a girl. There wasn’t even a spark in Naomi. He saw her every day, and she was a good friend to him, but all he knew about her was that she suffered from terrible headaches and she liked to quilt. What kind of life would that be?

  His thoughts slipped off to Bethany Schrock, which was happening quite a bit lately. That girl was maddening, hot-tempered, and feisty . . . and entirely fascinating to him. One minute, she would hardly pay him any mind, the next minute she would bat her eyelashes at him and send a look his way that would make his heart turn over. He could never quite tell if she was flirting with him or not. It was a contest . . . and Jimmy loved a challenge.

  His mother must have caught wind that he had his eye on Bethany Schrock and she was doing everything she could to redirect his attention to Naomi. She kept dropping by to visit Naomi and inviting her over for meals, cultivating the relationship with her inte
nded future daughter-in-law.

  In the distance, Jimmy saw a buggy coming up the road with a horse following behind. In the buggy was Galen. Trailing with a rope was Lodestar, which made Jimmy feel better and humiliated, all at once.

  He walked to meet Galen and took the rope from him. “Thanks.”

  “Wouldn’t keep happening if you kept your mind on your work.”

  Galen headed up the road to the farm. Jimmy and Lodestar followed along. In the barn, Jimmy led Lodestar to his stall and gave him a slap on the rump as the big horse crossed the threshold. He was a magnificent horse but he took every ounce of Jimmy’s attention. Jimmy tossed two slices of hay over the top half of the stall door and reached over to grab the water bucket to fill it.

  As Jimmy walked down the middle of the barn aisle to fill up the water bucket, he suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of Lodestar’s hooves clip-clopping on the concrete and spun around. Lodestar’s stall door was wide open and the horse was heading toward the open barn door. “Galen! Close the door!”

  In the middle of pitching hay into a wheelbarrow, Galen stabbed the pitchfork into a hay bale and made a lunge for the door. He grabbed Lodestar’s halter just as the horse reached the threshold and led him back to his stall, scowling at Jimmy.

  “I know, I know.” Jimmy lifted the water bucket. “I was filling the bucket.”

  Galen shut the hinges on both parts of the door. “What is the problem with you lately?”

  Jimmy sat down on a trunk and crossed one ankle over the other. “My mother wants me to give up the horse breeding business.”

  “Ah,” Galen said.

  “She wants me working full-time with the chicken business. And she wants me to think about getting married . . . to the girl she’s got picked out.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Instantly, Jimmy regretted bringing that topic up. There was no way to talk about Galen’s sister Naomi and come out on the right side of that discussion. If Jimmy disparaged her—admitting that he could never imagine himself with her—he would find himself tossed out of the barn on his rump. On the other hand, if Jimmy were to compliment Naomi, he would also find himself under Galen’s constant surveillance. It was a no-win situation and Jimmy wanted none of it. Galen was very protective of his little sister. Unless a fellow was happily married, Galen didn’t want him anywhere near Naomi.

  Jimmy pitied the poor fellow who would ever try to court Naomi. Galen would be watching that fellow like a duck watched for waterbugs. He glanced at Galen and realized he was waiting for an answer. “You know my mother. She’s got a short list of acceptable females that meet with her approval.”

  “Someone who’ll kowtow to her.”

  Jimmy nodded. Then he slapped his hands on his knees. “I do not want to be a chicken farmer and I do not want to have my mother pick my bride.”

  Galen picked up a broom and started sweeping the hay that had dropped from the wheelbarrow. “Didn’t Hank Lapp have a fondness for your mother?”

  “Yeah, but he courted her for more years than ticks on a mule. She got tired of him dragging his heels about getting married.”

  Galen set the broom against the wall and crossed his arms against his chest. “Well, seems as if even your mother might have trouble if she had too many pots boiling on the stove.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Galen closed his eyes briefly, and it seemed to Jimmy that under cover of his lids, he rolled them. “You’ve got a brain. Use it.” He picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and started for the door. When he slid it open, both Galen and Jimmy saw Bethany Schrock flounce across the yard to head to the house to visit with Naomi. “I doubt Bethany Schrock would be on your mother’s short list.”

  “No. She’s got something against those Schrocks. Doesn’t matter, though. Bethany doesn’t take me seriously. She thinks I’m nothing but a flirt.”

  “She’s right.” Galen grinned. “Now, Bethany Schrock is a girl who would go head-to-head with your mother. I sure wouldn’t mind having a seat in a tree when those two come together.”

  “I’m having enough trouble getting Bethany to go out with me. I sincerely doubt having my mother impress her opinions would endear her to me.” He gave Galen a sideways glance. Since Galen was courting Rose, he knew Bethany pretty well. “Any suggestions?”

  Galen belted out a laugh. “Women have always confused the daylights out of me. Let me know when you figure out how to understand what a woman means when she says something.” He strode off to the closest pasture, where five horses hung their heads over the pasture fence, eager for their meal to arrive.

  Jimmy leaned against the doorjamb. Interesting. Sometimes—often—Galen saw things before he did. Since Jimmy had been promoted to Galen’s partner in the horse breeding business, things had become easier between them. More and more it seemed Galen was a man he could have a comfortable word with from time to time. His mother turned every word into an argument about his future. Galen was different. Galen observed things. Rarely would he volunteer advice, but when asked, his advice was always to the point. Jimmy admired him greatly.

  Maybe . . . if Jimmy could get Hank Lapp to start buzzing around his mother again, she’d be too distracted to manage Jimmy’s life. He took a deep breath, feeling his bounce return to him.

  Bethany was coming out of the house and hurrying back across the yard. She had her usual look—the look of a woman whose mind was somewhere else. It gave her a distracted beauty.

  “Hey, Bethany,” Jimmy called out and jogged over to her. “Wait up for a second.”

  She stopped and turned, cocking her head in that saucy way, as if to say, “Why should I bother waiting for the likes of you, Jimmy Fisher?” Those vivid eyes were looking straight back into Jimmy’s.

  “How’s about letting me take you home after a Sunday singing sometime?”

  She lifted her chin and flashed him a bright smile. “Well, seems to me you might want to take Katie Zook home like you’ve been doing lately.”

  It was true—Jimmy had dallied a little with Katie Zook. Just a little. He couldn’t help himself. He was a natural dallier. Unfortunately, Katie had misunderstood his dallying and taken it for serious courting. But how in the world had Bethany heard about it? Was there to be no end to the humiliations of this day?

  He tried to think of a way to explain about Katie Zook; he tried out what he wanted to say to her in his head, but everything he came up with made it all seem worse. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. Bethany was already slipping away, walking with fast, sure strides toward the privet hole, soon to disappear. He threw his hat on the ground. Was he losing his touch?

  Bethany Schrock was as taxing and exasperating as a girl could be.

  And yet the feeling made him strangely light-headed, the same way he felt as he dove into Blue Lake Pond on a hot summer day and the cold water gripped him like a fist and pulled him down, down, down.

  Bethany put a red-checkered napkin on top of the breakfast tray to keep the food hot while she walked it over to the guest flat. Coffee in a thermos, cream in a small pitcher, six blueberry pancakes, syrup, four strips of bacon, two halves of a grapefruit, one bowl of cereal, and a large glass of orange juice. One thing she had learned quickly about this little lady preacher—she had a sizable appetite. Each morning, the tray was returned empty. Practically licked clean.

  Bethany barely knocked on the door and Geena opened it with a big smile. Bethany set the tray on the little kitchen table. “What are you planning to do today? Most of our guests go over to Bird-in-Hand or Intercourse to shop. Those towns are more touristy than Stoney Ridge.”

  “Already been. To each and every town along the Philadelphia Pike. I’m kind of tired of being a tourist and thought I’d do more hiking in the hills. I do need better hiking shoes. Any chance there’s a shoe store nearby?

  “Only if you happen to be a horse.”

  Geena turned half around to her and smiled. She poured some cream into her coffee and stirred, too
k a sip, and got a look on her face like she was instantly transported to Heaven. “I don’t know what you do to the coffee, but it is delicious.”

  “Broken-up eggshells. I add them to the grounds. Takes the bitterness out.”

  “Everything is so good, Bethany. You and Rose are excellent cooks.”

  Bethany was pleased. Not all the guests were easy to delight. A few were fussier than Mammi Vera and that was saying a lot. Last week a man stayed at Eagle Hill and knocked on the kitchen door one morning. He told Mammi Vera he’d like to show her the proper way to make a poached egg. She scolded him in a rapid stream of Penn Dutch and thoroughly confused him so that he tucked tail and hurried off to the guest flat.

  “Well, I’m due at the Grange Hall soon. Serving lunch to the down-and-out of Stoney Ridge,” Bethany said as she walked to the door.

  “Need any help?

  Bethany spun around. Was Geena serious? “Well, sure. The sisters who run it could always use an extra pair of hands. But I’m leaving in ten minutes.”

  Geena was already seated, napkin in her lap, fork in her hand. “I’ll be ready.”

  The sisters were delighted to meet Geena and very curious about her—they had never met a lady preacher before, they said. Geena explained she was a youth pastor, not a preacher, but they didn’t seem to think there was a distinction. They were quiet, watching her carefully, but Bethany could see they were itching to ask Geena something. Like an avalanche that began with a pebble, Ella asked one thing first, then Fannie, and soon, all five sisters pummeled her with questions.

  What did she preach about? All kinds of topics from the Bible. Did she wear long black robes? No. Were folks nice to her? Mostly. Did they accept having a lady preacher? Again, she explained she was a youth pastor. What did she like best about being a lady preacher? Serving God by caring for the youth. What did she like least? Well, preaching.