The Calling

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Rusty pounded it with her hands.

  “Whoa! Keep it steady. Watch me. Do what I do.” She pushed the heel of her palm into the dough and it squeezed upward, cool and clammy. “You knead dough by folding it, and then pressing the heel of your hand into the fold, like this.” She folded, pressed, folded, pressed. Bethany loved the way it felt, spongy and cold, and how it started to change under her palm as she kneaded it.

  “Why do you have to knead it so much?”

  “You’re releasing the yeast into the flour and water and salt. It’s a miracle, in a way, to think of delicious bread coming out of such simple ingredients.” She glanced over at the sticky lump in Rusty’s hands. “Add a little bit of flour as you go so it doesn’t stick to your hands.”

  “How do you know when it’s done?”

  “The more you bake bread, the more you’ll just know, but until then, there are a couple of ways to know for sure: If it holds its shape when you lift the ball in the air. If you poke it and the hole fills in.” She grinned. “Or if your arms get tired.” She stretched her ball of dough and pounded it down on the countertop. “It’s not ready until it’s not sticky. It should seem like a smooth, firm ball. Good thing is you can’t knead it too much. Not like pastry dough.”

  Rusty crinkled up her face in confusion and Bethany realized this girl knew absolutely nothing about cooking. She probably had never tasted a homemade piecrust before, buttery and flaky. “When the ball is elastic and doesn’t stick to you at all, it’s time to let it rise for a few hours. Then we pound the air out of it, knead it some more, let it rise again, and bake it.”

  “That’s a ton of work for a slice of bread. Why don’t you just buy a loaf of Wonder Bread from the store?”

  Bethany gave her a look as if a cat had spoken. “Later today, after you eat a piece of this bread right out of the oven, with butter melting on it, then I’ll ask you the same question.” She watched Rusty push and pull the dough, a serious intent on her face, and thought she might just be enjoying herself. “But if what you’re really asking is why anyone would bother to go to all this work—I love to bake bread. I love to cook from scratch.”

  “Why? It’s simpler to just buy stuff.”

  Bethany was surprised. Rusty was easier to engage in conversation than she would’ve expected. Almost as if she was just waiting for someone to show genuine interest in her. Geena, no doubt, had probably discovered that right away. “I get a lot of pleasure out of nourishing and feeding people. It makes me happy.”

  Rusty mimicked Bethany’s movement: pressing the dough with her palm, then rolling and pressing it again.

  Drumming in Bethany’s head was Geena’s prophecy about being a mentor to these young girls. It gave her a shivery feeling down her spine, like how she felt after one of Naomi’s visions came true.

  As they pushed and pulled at the dough, Bethany said, almost whispering, “Rusty, do you have any idea where Jake Hertzler is now?” She had told herself not to ask Rusty about Jake. Told herself, yet out it blurted. She didn’t want to talk about him, to think about him, but in the back of her mind, she had a hope that Rusty might be able to help the police find him.

  Cornered and knowing it, Rusty pressed her lips together and stilled. “No,” she said at last. “I haven’t heard from him since . . . that night.”

  “I’m not judging you. I know Jake can be a smooth talker. But I wondered how he found you in the first place.”

  A tiny shade of relief passed over Rusty and she started to push and pull the dough again. When she had her words lined up, her voice dropped to that calm tone she used on the night of the attack. “I’ve known him for a while. He used to get drugs and stuff for me and my friends. He drove by the Group Home and recognized me. Paid me a bundle to destroy the gardens.” A combative light came into her eyes as she looked squarely at Bethany. “But I didn’t hurt your dog. I wouldn’t do that. That was all Jake. I didn’t know it was you he was after.”

  “I’m grateful for your help that night.” Back and forth with the dough, back and forth, pushing and pulling.

  “He’ll be back. Your brother’s got something he wants.”

  Bethany froze. “What? What could it be?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s a thing or if it’s information. I just know he’s determined to get something. I’d tell you if I knew anything more.” Rusty jammed her fist at the dough. “He’s a bad one, that Hertzler. Bad through and through.”

  That he is. Bethany hated the man, hated the man with such force she shuddered with it and felt no shame for it. She should, though. It shamed her that she felt no shame.

  Rusty didn’t offer up another word about Jake and Bethany was fine with that. She didn’t think she could stand one more fearful thought about Jake Hertzler. “So what’s new at the Group Home?”

  “Old Biddy Green is leaving.”

  Bethany looked up. “The housemother? She’s leaving?”

  “Yup. Her mother is about to kick the bucket so she’s gonna go take care of her.”

  “When is she leaving?”

  “As soon as they find some sucker to take her place.”

  Bethany grinned. “Mrs. Green wasn’t so bad.”

  Rusty rolled her eyes. “She spends most of the day on the couch watching soap operas.”

  Bethany shaped the bread into balls and put them in a large wooden bowl, then covered it with a damp dishcloth and set it near the oven. Someone to take her place. She glanced over at Rusty, an idea starting to surface. With a sense of sudden purpose, she said, “You might be surprised. Mrs. Green’s replacement could be an ideal match.”

  Geena woke in the middle of the night and somehow knew, without a doubt, the time had come to leave Eagle Hill. Rose and Vera had returned, the Schrock family didn’t need her help any longer, and she sensed that inner prompting she was always listening for. It was time. “I get the message, Lord, but what am I going home to?” She waited for an answer, eyes on the ceiling.

  Nothing.

  “I’d really prefer to get the full picture, Lord, if you don’t mind. I’ve never been good at that step-by-step thing.”

  Nothing.

  “Well. Fine, then. I’ll head back to my apartment in the city and wait for further orders.”

  Nothing.

  In the morning, Geena stripped the sheets off the bed in Bethany’s room and packed her suitcase. She looked around to make sure she had left the small room the way she found it. She would leave, but not until after breakfast. She wasn’t about to miss her last Amish breakfast. She thought she smelled the sweet scent of freshly baked blueberry cornbread all the way up in her room. It was the Inn’s specialty and always served at the first breakfast for new guests.

  When Geena went downstairs, she found Bethany alone in the kitchen. The kitchen clock chimed softly while she helped herself to a cup of coffee. “You’re up earlier than usual.”

  “The new guests in the guest flat are bird-watchers. They wanted breakfast at 4:30 a.m. so they could go birding at dawn.”

  “And you accommodated them?”

  Bethany smiled. “Not me. Rose did. She likes birds, herself.”

  Geena sat at the kitchen table and set her mug down. “It’s time I head back to Philadelphia.”

  Bethany glanced up, disappointment on her face. “So soon? Do you have a job? Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  “No. God hasn’t told me that part yet.” Not yet. Soon. She felt confident of that. Each day, she went to the Sweet Tooth Bakery for coffee and a cinnamon roll, then spent a few hours in the corner of the bakery using the wi-fi. She had emailed dozens of résumés and sent emails to colleagues. She had received one answer back from a church that showed mild interest. They were looking for a youth pastor, though she would have to move to a remote section of South Dakota. She was willing. She would go anywhere God called her. Even South Dakota.

  Bethany turned off the burner at the stove and set down the spatula. “Geena, wou
ld you consider applying for the job as housemother at the Group Home? Mrs. Green can’t leave until she finds a replacement, and Sylvia told me just yesterday that there haven’t been any qualified applicants. Being housemother probably doesn’t pay much money and you’d be doing more counseling than preaching. I know it’s not quite what you had in mind, but you’re so good with the girls. Would you consider it?”

  The suggestion caught Geena by surprise, so much so that she hesitated a moment before answering. “Thanks, Bethany, but I’m committed to serving in churches.”

  “But who’s to say what kind of church? Isn’t serving God what you want to do? You’re wonderful with those girls. And being a housemother is a position that plays to your strengths. You’ve said that was important.”

  Geena managed a kind smile and hoped it didn’t look as patronizing as she felt. It was sweet of Bethany to worry about her, but how could an Amish girl possibly understand what it was like to be a trained seminarian? Just as Bethany opened her mouth to say something more, Geena cut her off. “Breakfast sure smells delicious.”

  Bethany clamped her lips shut. A loud clunk hit the ceiling and her eyes rolled upward. “I hear those boys stirring upstairs. I’d better finish up.”

  An hour later, Geena had said her goodbyes to the Schrock family with promises to return, and drove away from Eagle Hill. She passed by the Sisters’ House, the Grange Hall, the community garden, the Group Home. As she turned the corner onto Main Street, she heard the voice of God. It said gently, Stop. Go back. Feed my sheep.

  Instead, she headed down Main Street and noticed the Sweet Tooth Bakery. She loved that little shop.

  She heard the voice again: Geena, make a U-turn. Watch over my flock.

  She checked her GPS for the road that would lead her east on I-76. To Philadelphia. She clicked on her blinker.

  Again, she heard the voice: Go to the Group Home and care for those girls.

  As soon as the words formed in her head, she understood. She had been asking the wrong question: Which church should I serve in? Surely the answer was to look around and see the church was everywhere. She hesitated. And she almost went back. Instead, she stopped at the Sweet Tooth Bakery and bought a cinnamon roll. She loved those cinnamon rolls.

  Then she went back.

  22

  School started on a gray mid-August morning with a rainstorm due at any moment. The wind had picked up, the sky had darkened. As a few drops started to fall, then more and more, Teacher M.K. rang the bell to call everyone into the schoolhouse a little early. For a moment, everything felt normal to Mim. She had been worried Teacher M.K. wouldn’t be here this term, but there she was!

  Teacher M.K. had an odd look on her face as she welcomed the class back for another term. Happy and sad, all mixed up together. “I have some news,” she said at last, and Mim’s hands started to feel cold and clammy, even though the air in the schoolhouse was heavy and humid from the warm summer rain. Mim never did like change and she sensed change was coming.

  “Since I’m going to be getting married and moving to Ohio, I won’t be able to teach this term.”

  Mim hung her head. She had been holding out a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe Teacher M.K. would keep teaching or postpone her wedding. Just one more term—then Mim would graduate and it wouldn’t be a problem if the new teacher were awful.

  “The school board has been looking for a replacement for the last few weeks and, so far, hasn’t found anyone. In the meantime, they have decided on a substitute teacher. This is someone I recommended to the school board. This person is the smartest student I ever taught. And even though he’s a little bit younger than most teachers, he was born to teach. I am counting on each one of you to support him.” She was staring right at Luke when she said that.

  The door opened and all heads turned to see who was coming in. First, all they could see was a big black umbrella, dripping with rain. Then it dropped to the floor and there stood Danny Riehl.

  Mim’s heart soared.

  Danny shadowed Teacher M.K. all day. Mim stuck around after school let out, hoping they might walk home together. Hoping he might ask her to meet him on the hill behind the schoolhouse and stargaze. After the rainstorm that swept through Stoney Ridge this morning, the skies were clear, the moon just a sliver of a thumbnail, and it would be a perfect night to observe Orion. But Danny didn’t look at her, not once, and he stayed close to Teacher M.K.’s desk, peppering her with questions about teaching.

  It was getting late so Mim quietly slipped out the door to head to Eagle Hill. As she reached the road, she heard Danny call to her. Her heart soared again as she waited for him to catch up with her.

  “I need to go back in and work with Teacher M.K.”

  She nodded. She understood.

  He pushed his glasses up against the bridge of his nose. “I just found out about substituting a few weeks ago. The school board has been looking for teachers all summer and couldn’t find anyone. No one wanted it. That’s why they finally came to me. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”

  “That’s all right.”

  He looked down at the tops of his shoes. “The thing is, Mim, I want to do well in this job.”

  “Of course,” she said. She twirled her apron corner around one finger. “Of course you do.”

  “So . . . I . . . won’t be asking you to go stargazing anymore. In that . . . I’m your teacher now.”

  Oh. Oh!

  “And I need you to do me a favor.”

  “What?”

  He kept his eyes on the waving cornstalks that rustled in a gentle breeze. “You should call me Teacher Danny.” For a brief moment he met her gaze. “You called me Danny a couple of times today. I think it would set a good example to the younger students.”

  She tried to look casual and nonchalant, but she knew it probably looked weird and tight and forced. Her disappointment was massive and she had never been good at hiding her feelings. If she didn’t leave soon, she would start to cry and that would be mortifying. She had to swallow twice before she could speak. “I understand perfectly. I’d better get home. Mom will be wondering where I am.” She turned and hurried down the road.

  “Mim,” Danny called.

  She stopped but didn’t turn back.

  He walked up to her. “I’m sorry.”

  Mim started for home, feeling halfway sad and blue, halfway stupid. As tears slipped down her cheeks, she thought now she could finally answer questions for Mrs. Miracle about love and broken hearts.

  Summer was slipping away. The air had gone quiet, falling into the purple hush of dusk as the sun slipped suddenly behind the ridge that framed Eagle Hill.

  A hummingbird buzzed through the air, paused to stare at Bethany as she turned on the garden hose, and then settled on the edge of the watering can. It dipped its little bill into the water three or four times and watched her again. A glistening drop of water perched on the tip of its beak. She stopped moving to see what the tiny bird would do, but it flew away. When she turned around, there was Jimmy Fisher.

  She walked up to him. “Hello, Jimmy. I haven’t seen you around.” Now that he wasn’t working at Galen’s any longer, she hadn’t seen him in quite some time.

  “You said you needed some space. I’ve been trying to give it to you.”

  The expression on his face was so full of pain. She couldn’t bear him being hurt. She simply could not bear it. She had to look away. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”

  He stilled.

  She raised her head. He was looking down at her with those spectacular blue eyes of his. A muscle ticked in his cheek and she could see the pulse beating in his neck, fast and hard. “My mother has a mental illness. That’s why she left Stoney Ridge the way she did—she disappeared when Tobe and I were little and we grew up thinking she had abandoned us. I didn’t know the truth until just recently. I tracked her down and visited her, and I met her.” She had a hard time talking around the knot in her throat and her voice cracked
a little. “But she didn’t seem to know me at all. She’s . . . in bad shape. Though she’s in a good place. I mean, she’s well cared for.”

  A sadness welled up inside Bethany, choking off the words. She shut her eyes and pressed her fingers to her lips. She hadn’t wanted to cry and didn’t think she would, but in the next instant scalding tears pushed against her eyes. She buried her face in her hands, but just for a moment. Then she let them fall to her side, curled into balls.

  She swallowed and drew in a deep breath. “Turns out, my grandmother had the same sickness. I thought . . . well, lately, I’ve felt so confused and upset and moody—I might be getting the sickness too. That’s why I ended things with you, before they got started.”

  “You didn’t even give me a chance.” He said the words simply, his voice low and flat.

  His comment surprised her. She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, but not that. “I know.” She looked down at her hands, which were now twisted up into a knot with her apron. With a deliberate effort she unclenched her fingers, smoothing out the bunched material. She lifted her head. “I’m not sure you can understand this, but I felt so scared, Jimmy. I was sure I was getting the sickness. I broke things off with you because I couldn’t bear the thought of tangling you in this sickness. I even went to a doctor, and now I’m seeing a counselor. I’ve been having panic attacks and she’s helping me.” She bowed her head.

  “You didn’t think you could tell me any of this?”

  “I’m sorry. My mother’s situation . . . well, it’s complicated. And messy.” She shook her head, splattering tears. “Shootfire! If I told you, it would scare you to kingdom come.”