Lovina joined them and sat, pale but steady, eating little. Her mann ate awkwardly since he was right-handed and that was the arm he’d broken.
Mark met Miriam’s gaze and raised his brow. She lifted her shoulders, dropped them in a wordless gesture of frustration.
Miriam lingered after the meal was served, cleaning Lovina’s kitchen until it sparkled, then washing a load of clothes. Her mudder put together a couple of casseroles and tucked them into the refrigerator freezer.
“Ready to go home?” her mudder asked after hanging the wash out.
“I want to do another load. I’ll get a ride home with Mark.”
“Allrecht. See you later.”
Miriam hung up the second load of wash and waved to Mark as he left the field. “Can I get a ride home with you?”
“Sure. But I’m going to try to talk to Abraham as soon as the other men have gone. My grandfather said he’d get a ride home and leave me the buggy.”
“Good luck.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
She checked the first load of laundry she’d hung and found it dry. On such a warm day it didn’t take long, especially the little garments the Miller kinner wore. She said a silent prayer of thanks as she folded the small shirts and pants and dresses, all lovingly made by their mudder. It would have been so sad if God had called them home. Next year she’d have the oldest kind as a student at schul, God willing.
When she walked toward the house, she saw Abraham and Mark engaged in an intense discussion. Abraham sat stiffly, frowning, as Mark sat forward in his rocking chair, speaking passionately. She didn’t know what he was saying, but from Abraham’s expression and his body language, it didn’t appear Mark was convincing him.
Well, the Amish belief in God’s law, not man’s, had been a part of the faith probably since the very beginning. It might take a long time to convince Abraham. But if anyone could do it, Mark could.
After what Lovina had told her about losing her boppli today, Miriam was even more schur that Mark should talk to Abraham.
Lovina was sitting at the kitchen table mending when she walked in. “Danki for all the help,” she said quietly when Miriam set the basket down.
“Why didn’t you try to get some more rest?”
Lovina shrugged. “The kinner will be home soon. And it helps to keep my hands busy.”
“Mamm put together some casseroles. What else can I do to help?”
“You’ve done more than enough.”
Miriam walked to the kitchen window. “Mark’s out there talking to Abraham. I wish I could hear what they’re saying.”
Lovina smiled slightly. “Me, too. But knowing Abraham as I do, I can well imagine. He’s saying nee, nee, nee.”
The three of them had grown up together, although Lovina and Abraham were two years older than she was. “You’re probably right. But we have to try to convince him.”
“Abraham is stubborn, but he’s a gut man.”
“He is that.”
“Mark is a gut man, too.”
Miriam met Lovina’s gaze. “Ya, he is.”
“I can tell you care about him very much.”
Miriam fixed two glasses of ice water. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who knows you well.” Lovina knotted her thread, clipped it with scissors, and set the dress down. “Does he know?”
“Nee, thank goodness. He thinks I’m interested in someone else.”
“Men are clueless.”
She laughed and sipped her water. “Thank goodness,” she said fervently. “It would be so awful if he knew.”
“If who knew what?” Mark asked as he walked in the back door.
Miriam nearly dropped her glass. “If Abraham knew what Lovina was making him for Christmas.”
“Christmas? Isn’t it a little early to be talking about Christmas?” He helped himself to a glass of ice water.
“It’s never too early,” Lovina said quickly. “We make our gifts and it’ll take a long time for me to knit the sweater I want to make him.” She glanced at the door. “Shhh,” she hissed. “Here he comes.”
Abraham walked into the room, gave them all a nod, and proceeded into the living room without speaking.
“Danki for talking to him,” Lovina told Mark.
“He won’t be mad at you, will he?” Miriam asked, worried that Mark looked so grim.
“I told him you didn’t ask me to,” he said. “Because you didn’t. He doesn’t need to know Miriam did. I just told him I wanted to help. He said no, but I asked him to think about it.” He sighed. “I hope he will.”
“Well, it’s done. “ Lovina picked up another dress to mend.
Mark turned to Miriam. “Ready to go?”
“I should see if the clothes on the line are dry.”
“My mudder will do that later,” Lovina said. “You two go on.”
“Allrecht. Try not to overdo.”
The back door opened and the kinner walked in followed by their grossmudder.
They were quiet. Too quiet. Two of them—the oldest and youngest—wore bandages from the accident.
Lovina sprang up and gathered them in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re home. Did you have a gut time?”
“We made cookies,” the smallest girl said, holding up a plastic container. “We brought home some for Daed.”
“He’s in the living room. Why don’t you take them to him?”
Miriam bid them a quick good-bye and hurried out to John’s buggy. She barely made it there before she burst into tears.
Mark heard a choking sound coming from Miriam as he followed her to the buggy.
Was she crying? He climbed into the buggy and winced when he saw that yes, indeed, she was crying. Like most men, he approached a woman in tears cautiously. “What’s wrong?”
“Just get us out of here, quickly. Please?” She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a tissue.
“Okay.” He did as she asked, careful to watch for traffic as he pulled out of the drive.
They traveled down the road, the only sound the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the road and Miriam’s helpless weeping.
Finally, her sobs subsided. She took a shuddering breath, blew her nose, and stared out at the passing scenery.
“Rough day, huh?” It wasn’t sparkling dialogue, but it was the best he could do. He’d seen her in tears before, but never this gut level despair.
“Ya.” Miriam balled up the tissue in her hands. “It was one thing to see Abraham hurt, to . . . talk to Lovina about that night. But seeing the kinner so quiet, knowing that they could have been hurt more—or worse—I—” she broke off, lifting her hands and letting them fall into her lap. “Next year I’ll have their oldest in my classroom.”
She reached into her apron pocket for the slip of paper and handed it to him. “Lovina wrote down the license plate number that night. She said it was a fancy SUV. She doesn’t know what kind.”
“This should help. I’ll give my private investigator a call, see what he can dig up.”
“Has he been able to find out anything for you on that man back in Philadelphia?”
Mark frowned and shook his head. “He thought he had a lead the other day, but it didn’t turn out to be anything. We both feel Maurice is innocent.”
She touched his arm and made him look at her. “I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s not like it’s not on my mind, you know?” He pulled into the driveway of her house. “Maybe I’ll be able to help Abraham and his family. That’s why I went into law.”
She smiled. “I know. Have a gut evening.”
“You, too.”
As he drove home, he thought about what he’d said. He’d gone into law to help people, but at some point his advisor had talked him into criminal law. Now he couldn’t help wondering how different his life might have been if he’d gone into some other specialty. He wouldn’t have had such a high public profi
le, which mean he wouldn’t now be on the outs with his firm because of bad publicity. Then again, he wouldn’t have had the high standard of living he’d enjoyed, either.
But as he unhitched the buggy and put the horse up for the night, he remembered the night not long after the trial had ended when he’d asked himself whether he’d made a living or a life.
He walked slowly into the house.
John straightened from looking into the refrigerator. “There you are. I was about to eat supper without you. You didn’t stop somewhere on the way home to eat, did you?”
“No. I stayed to talk to Abraham. Listen, go ahead and eat. I think I’ll take a shower first.”
“Sit. It’s just us two men. You can shower after. You look tired.”
“I am.” Mark sank into a chair and bent his head for the blessing of the meal.
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to Abraham today. How is he doing?”
“The arm’s giving him quite a bit of pain still. I can relate. Remember I broke my left arm when I was ten?”
“I remember.”
Mark helped himself to food. “Help me understand something. Abraham doesn’t want to press charges.”
“That must be hard for a lawyer to hear, isn’t it?”
He saw the humor in his grandfather’s eyes. “Yeah. I told Miriam I’d be broke if the Englisch felt that way.” He took a sip of ice water. “But Abraham doesn’t have to press charges. Some teenagers deliberately ran him and his family off the road, injured them, and caused property damage.”
“I’m aware of what happened.”
“He can approach those who did it and demand they pay monetary damages,” Mark said. “I know that, too.” John began buttering a slice of bread.
“But he says he doesn’t want to do it. Or have me do it.”
John’s knife stilled. “You offered?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“Is that a problem?”
John set the bread on his plate. “You know we believe in God’s law, not man’s.”
“Asking a man to make something right isn’t going against God’s law.”
“Interesting argument. But it’s up to Him to settle such matters.”
Mark pushed aside his plate. “It’s hard for me to see a wrong and not try to make things right. To leave everything up to God.”
“But He’s in charge of everything in our lives.”
That stopped Mark. He hadn’t let God be in charge of his life in a long time. Maybe ever. He’d always figured he would take care of himself, and let God take care of bigger issues, of other people who needed Him more.
“I can see you’re struggling with this.”
“You bet. If nothing else, if these teenagers don’t face the consequences of their actions, they could hurt someone else, do more damage. Maybe even do worse.”
“And you think that, if we leave it to God, they’ll never face those consequences?”
“I don’t think we should have to wait around for them. Or have good people like Abraham and his family suffer financially and physically in the meantime.”
“And what about you?” John picked up the piece of bread and bit into it.
“What about me?”
“Are you tired of waiting around for Him to resolve the problem in your life?”
Mark chuckled. “You know the answer to that.”
“Ask yourself if you want to help Abraham and his family because it’s the right thing for them, or the right thing for you.”
“How can it be the right thing for me?”
“I think you really want to help because you have a good heart. But it might not be the right thing for Abraham and his family.”
They cleared the table, washed the dishes, and walked out to the barn to do the last check of the animals before bed.
“Well, I’m going to read for a while,” John said.
“I think I’ll take that shower and hit the sack. Had a long day today and I’m sure tomorrow will be one as well.”
John gave him a pat on the shoulder as he headed toward the living room.
Mark climbed the stairs. He would read for a while, too . . . on his computer. He needed to contact his private investigator and do some research. There had to be a way to help Abraham that was compatible with Amish law.
He just had to find it.
Nineteen
Miriam didn’t need the calendar to know summer was finally fading . . . or rather, melting away.
When she walked outside one morning, she felt a small drop in temperature and a lessening of humidity in the air. Every dochder of a farmer was in tune to the weather.
She was looking forward to a new school year. There was nothing better than seeing those bright, shining faces on her scholars, whether they were new to her schul or returning for another year. She loved planning lessons and seeing young faces light up when they understood a new lesson. It was a joy to watch the older kinner help the younger ones. And it was such fun to go out onto the small playground next to the schul and join in ball games or other sports during recess.
Soon she’d be surrounded by kinner for much of her day, trusted to carry forward their academic and spiritual education. Here in her community, she was not only allowed but encouraged to bring prayer and church teachings into her schul room. She’d be forever thankful to John for her teaching job.
She was seated at the kitchen table, chin in hand, papers spread in front of her, when her dat walked in.
“Now there’s something I don’t see often,” he said as he walked to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “Miriam the whirlwind actually sitting still.”
She laughed. “I have my quiet, still moments.”
“Not often.” Daniel said as he dried his hands on a dishtowel. “You’re a busy little bee, for schur. Always have been.” He gestured at her papers. “Looking forward to schul starting, eh?”
“Mmm. And I bet you and Mamm are looking forward to having some peace and quiet during the day.”
Sarah came into the kitchen and went straight for the coffee Miriam had made. She looked at her mann and, when he nodded, poured him a cup, too.
“Miriam thinks we’re looking forward to having some peace and quiet when schul starts.”
“Nee, your dat and I walk around complaining it’s too quiet those first few weeks,” Sarah said. “But part of being a parent is learning to watch your kinner grow to be independent. What’s that saying about giving them roots and wings?”
Miriam smiled. “It’s a gut saying. You do that as parents and I have to do that as a teacher.” Her smile faded. “The Miller kinner came home just as I was leaving the other day. It broke my heart to see how quiet they were, how bruised.”
Sarah sat at the table and patted her hand. “Kinner bounce back quickly. They’ll be fine.”
“Their oldest will be attending schul for the first time this year. I couldn’t help thinking things could have turned out very differently.”
“But they didn’t,” her dat said quietly.
She sighed. “I know. It’s just hard to see people you care about suffering.”
“Faith isn’t easy. I don’t think it’s meant to be.”
“Have you always been so wise?”
She chuckled and shook her head. “Nee. Your dat will tell you so.”
“Nee, I won’t,” he disagreed. “She’s the wisest, most beautiful woman I know.”
“Oh, go on now,” she said, blushing.
Miriam loved the way her parents loved each other. She hoped God had something just as wunderbaar planned for her. It wouldn’t matter how long she had to wait, so long as God brought her someone like her dat, someone who would love her like he loved her mudder.
Well, nee, she didn’t want to wait too long. And if she was honest, she still wished that man could be Mark.
She jerked to attention when the timer on the oven dinged. “Biscuits are done. Dat, do you want your eggs scrambled or f
ried?”
“Whatever’s easiest,” he said.
“You always say that.”
“Ya,” he said with a grin. “So why do you keep asking?”
She served him two of the golden brown biscuits and pushed the dish of butter and jar of blackberry jam closer to his plate. Then she brought the basket of eggs to the stove and began cracking them into a big bowl. She beat them and poured them into the cast iron skillet she’d been heating on the stove.
As she worked, Miriam gazed out the window as the sunrise spread light over the sweeping expanse of fields. The view filled her with peace and joy.
Daniel finished his breakfast and returned to his chores in the barn.
Little feet began pattering down the stairs—bare feet for summer. Soon the weather would force her and the kinner to don shoes for schul, but for now it was so gut to have the freedom of bare feet, to feel the grass and warm earth beneath her toes.
She remembered how appalled Mark had been the first summer he’d visited and seen the Amish kinner running around barefooted. Couldn’t their family afford shoes? he’d asked. He knew they had a lot of children, but shoes were important, kept them from getting hurt.
Then he’d looked down and seen her bare toes. He’d turned red and stammered while she laughed. Before summer was over, he’d gone without shoes himself when he wasn’t working in the fields.
Miriam served the eggs, helped butter biscuits and wipe chins when purple jam dripped on them, and turned the meal into a lesson. She’d used two eggs for each of them to make the scrambled eggs they ate. How many eggs had she used in total?
Isaac rolled his eyes. “Schul’s starting soon. Can’t we do this then?”
She ruffled his blond hair and it stood up in little spiky tufts that reminded her of a chick’s downy head. “What if you forget your multiplication tables before then?”
“I won’t forget.”
“Allrecht, then. Prove it.” Miriam poured more coffee into her mudder’s cup.
Isaac scrunched his forehead, looked thoughtful.
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