by Marta Perry
Leah caught her arm. “Since you and I are almost family, let me help bring things out.”
“That is kind of you, Leah.” One of her young ones rushed up to grasp her skirt just then, and she nodded. “Everything is on the kitchen table.”
Leah went quickly into the house. She would have offered to help in any event, but she was just as happy to be safely away from the group for a moment. That exchange with Daniel had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.
He knew about Anna and the Englischer. Well, that in itself was not so bad. As Anna herself had said, it was her rumspringa. Such goings-on were tolerated, if not welcomed, by the community. Parents turned their eyes away and prayed for the best.
The danger lay in what Anna made of the situation. I might be in love, she’d said. It was tempting to believe that her younger sister wasn’t old enough to know what love was, but she’d been Anna’s age when she’d fallen in love with Johnny.
And look how that had turned out. She certainly couldn’t hold herself up as any sort of example.
Sometimes I think you don’t have any feelings at all.
Anna’s words echoed relentlessly in her heart. The very fact that she couldn’t forget them told her that she feared they were true. Certainly Johnny would have agreed with that, once at least.
And now? Well, now he simply didn’t care.
Forcing herself to move, she picked up a tray and began filling it with the dishes on the table. Naomi, and perhaps her mother-in-law, had gone all out. There were sweet pickles and dill pickles, red beets, even peanut butter and strawberry jelly for the children. Additional plates were filled with sweets: pumpkin, chocolate chip, and sugar cookies.
She gripped the tray, but for a moment didn’t move. Whether others would accept Anna’s flirtation or not, Daniel was the worst person to trust with it.
She could understand why he felt as he did. With just the little she knew about his wife’s jumping the fence to the outside world and taking the children with her, the reason for his feelings was clear. She could sympathize with his pain.
But she wished he didn’t know about Anna.
She started out the door with the filled tray and nearly bumped into Elizabeth, coming in.
The child looked up at her, small face intent. “Naomi said that I could help carry things out.”
“That’s kind of you, Elizabeth, but wouldn’t you rather play with the other scholars? I can take everything out.”
“But I said I would help.” Elizabeth’s lower lip trembled. “I must do as I said.”
“Ser gut,” Leah said quickly. “You can take the plates of cookies that are on the table.”
Elizabeth nodded and hurried to the table. Leah watched as she picked up the first plate carefully, holding it with both hands.
Dear Father, help me to understand this child. There is something not right about her frantic need to be good. Help me to see.
And if she did see, would Daniel listen to her? The way things were going, she doubted it.
She shoved through the screen door, holding it open against her hip while Elizabeth came out. They carried their burdens to the picnic tables, where people already clustered, plates at the ready.
Naomi seized the tray, putting its contents quickly on the table, the bishop lifted his voice in prayer, and the fellowship meal began.
In spite of her concerns about Daniel and his children and her worries about Anna, Leah began to relax. This time—this bonding with her community—was surely one of the great strengths of Amish life. Sharing worship and a common meal, they did what the earliest followers of Jesus did, and it built the ties between them more surely with every bite, every joke, every shared story.
By the time folks were settling into groups with their coffee and cookies, the peace of the day had calmed Leah. She sat down next to Naomi, who had her five-year-old son on her lap. Leah reached over to stroke light brown hair out of the boy’s eyes.
“Eli, will you be coming to school in the fall?”
Eli burrowed his face in his mother’s shoulder.
“Ach, now, answer Teacher Leah,” Naomi chided.
The boy stole a glance at her face. “Ja, Teacher Leah,” he whispered.
She smiled. “I will be glad to have you in my class, I will.”
“You will be teaching in the fall, then?” Naomi asked.
Leah blinked. “Ja, of course I will, for sure. Why not?”
Naomi’s gaze slid away from hers. “No reason. I just thought—folks were saying—maybe you’d be doing somethin’ else in the fall.”
For a moment her mind spun. And then it settled on the right answer. Daniel. Folks were saying she would wed Daniel.
She managed to smile. Managed to force her tone to be light. “I see the matchmakers are busy as always. I hate to disappoint them, but I have no plans to do anything but continue to teach.”
Naomi’s gaze met hers, and for a moment it seemed the young mother could see into her heart. “Sometimes it surprises us what God has for us.”
A thin wail sounded from the second-floor window of the house. “It sounds as if young Jacob is awake.” Leah was relieved at the interruption.
Naomi moved, starting to put Eli down, but Leah stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Let me get him, please? I haven’t seen him in weeks, it seems.”
Naomi hesitated a moment, and then she nodded. “His clothes are hanging on the rack by the crib.”
“I’ll take care of him.” She hurried toward the house. Escaping again? She’d hate to think that.
The wail grew louder as she mounted the enclosed staircase. Little Jacob was growing impatient. “I’m coming, Jacob.”
The bedroom at the top of the stairs was typical of a small child’s room in most Amish houses, with one dramatic exception. Over Jacob’s crib hung a metal rack filled with blue lights, sending an eerie blue glow through the room. Run by a generator, the lights were the only thing that kept Jacob and his sister, who was two years older, alive.
Crossing to the crib, she switched off the lights and lifted them out of the way. Jacob, clad only in his diaper, reached chubby arms to her, and she picked him up, holding him close.
Jacob looked like any other fourteen-month-old, except for the golden color of his skin and the yellow whites of his eyes, caused by the jaundice that built up in his little body. Without spending twelve hours a day under the lights, Jacob would die.
Bouncing him a little, she carried him to the changing pad on top of the wooden dresser. “There we go, little man. We’ll get you all dressed and take you down to your mammi.”
Jacob stared at her intently for a moment and then gave her a grin. She tickled him, and he chortled, clapping his hands.
Her heart turned over, and she knew that she had one answer, at least, to the difficulties that surrounded her. She might not know what to do about Daniel and his children, or about Anna, but if it meant helping Jacob and those like him, she would ask Bishop Mose for permission to volunteer at the clinic.
• • •
“I’m wonderful glad to have a chance to talk to you.” Rachel sat down beside Leah in the back row of schoolroom desks. “We’ve been too busy to visit lately, we have.”
At the front of the room, the teacher’s helper who came in to assist Leah several days a week was beginning to rehearse the scholars for their end-of-year program.
“Of course,” she murmured, her mind only partially on Rachel. “I can’t believe school will be out so soon. The years go faster all the time.”
“That’s because we’re older all the time,” Rachel said. She nodded toward Leah’s seventeen-year-old helper. “How is Mary Yoder shaping up? Will you make a teacher of her?”
“I will if she keeps at it and doesn’t let herself stray off after a job in town, as so many girls want to do.”
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Rachel’s gaze sought out her own Becky, whispering with the other eight- and nine-year-olds as they practiced their parts. “That’s a worry, for sure.”
Already Rachel feared the world would lure her child away. Be ye separate. In the world, not of the world.
Those were the teachings they lived by, ingrained from birth, but still, the world called too loudly for some.
Like Rachel’s twin. Leah glanced at her friend’s face. Was she remembering Johnny?
“I hear that you are going to volunteer at the clinic where Johnny is.” Rachel said the words softly, her face averted.
Leah hesitated, not sure of Rachel’s reaction. When they were girls, they’d told each other everything, but now— Well, life was like that, wasn’t it? They couldn’t stay girls forever, and they wouldn’t want to.
“I am. Once school is out, I’ll start calling on folks, getting information about those who have the inherited illnesses.”
Rachel looked at her then, her gaze troubled. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
How could I be sure? No, she wouldn’t say that. It would be giving in to her own doubts and fears.
“I’ve talked with Bishop Mose about it. He’s approved.” She stopped, not willing to repeat to Rachel the gist of Bishop Mose’s concerns about her being near Johnny again.
“Have you seen him? Johnny, I mean?” Rachel lowered her voice, though none of the children could hear their conversation.
“Ja.” She hesitated. “Are you upset with me for doing this?”
“No, no.” Rachel put her hand over Leah’s. “Not upset. Just worried.”
“Don’t be,” she said, her tone firm. “There’s nothing between John and me now, and that’s as it should be.”
“That’s gut, much as I hate to say it.” She paused, and her eyes grew wistful. “How is he?”
Leah’s heart twisted. “He seems successful. Driven to succeed in his work, I’d say.”
“But something about him worries you,” Rachel said. “Don’t deny it. I know you too well.”
Leah spread her hands, palms up. “I’m not sure. The others seem to respect him, but he still is nervous, as if he’s not quite sure of himself among them.”
“Because he was Amish?”
“I don’t know.” She struggled with feelings she didn’t fully understand. “Sometimes I catch flashes of the old Johnny, and I understand him. But then he becomes someone so different.”
Rachel nodded. “If I could see for myself—”
“You could, if you wanted.” Leah’s hand closed over hers.
Rachel shook her head. “Not now. Maybe later.” She focused on Leah’s face, her blue eyes piercing. “Just tell me one thing for sure. Are you going to help there because of Johnny?”
In that, at least, she knew her own heart. “No. I’m going because of the children. Little Jacob and Naomi Grace Miller, and all the rest. And those yet to be born.”
Her heart clutched. Mahlon was marrying into the Miller family. She wouldn’t want him to give up his Esther, but she feared for the children they would have.
“Gut.” Rachel patted her hand. “That’s gut.”
Mary came halfway down the aisle toward them and stopped, obviously not wanting to interrupt. Leah smiled at her.
“What is it, Mary?”
“The middle-grade scholars are ready to practice for us.”
“Ser gut. We’ll come a little closer.” She rose and moved toward the front of the classroom, Rachel following her.
This end-of-year program was one she’d written her first year of teaching—so long ago she hoped no one would remember it. Although if any of her scholars from that year came to the program, which they probably would, they might still be able to recite the poetry by heart.
She settled herself to listen attentively, smiling and nodding encouragingly at each child as he or she spoke. Mary, who was prompting as needed, looked a bit worried. She’d have to assure her that mistakes were normal at this stage. Experience had taught Leah that just when you thought the program would be a complete disaster, it all came together.
Elizabeth stepped forward, her hands linked on her apron, her gaze on the ceiling, as if she looked for inspiration there. “I am but a little scholar,” she began. “Still I’ve learned to—” She stopped, her hands tightening as she sought for the elusive words.
“—listen well,” Mary whispered loudly.
Elizabeth didn’t seem to hear. Her eyes grew panic-stricken.
“It’s all right,” Leah began.
But it was too late. Elizabeth burst into tears and ran from the room.
CHAPTER NINE
Matthew!” Daniel, on his knees in the vegetable garden, pushed himself to his feet, scanning the area between garden and barn for his son. “Matthew, wo bist du? Where are you?”
No answer. He glanced at the tomato plants, ready to be put into the ground now that the threat of frost was past. He’d hoped he and Matthew could get the job done quickly once the children got home from school.
He could have done it himself, but he’d wanted to share it with his son. He longed to have the pleasure of working beside him, planting something that would help to feed the family.
But Matthew, while never openly rebellious, had found many ways of avoiding chores lately. He’d been sent to the barn on a simple enough errand to bring back an extra trowel. He’d had time enough to do that a dozen times by now.
Daniel looked again at the two dozen tomato plants he’d decided would be enough for them. They’d begin to wilt in another few minutes. Blowing out an irritated breath, he headed for the barn.
Matthew seemed to get more distracted every day. Before Ruth left, Daniel had thought that he and Matthew were as close as a father and son could possibly be. He’d never expected that could change.
Now, he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know his oldest son any longer, and that cut him to the heart.
The barn door stood open a few feet, where Matthew had gone in. Daniel gave it an impatient shove and stepped inside.
At the sound, Matthew popped up from the hay mow, eyes round with surprise. He made a quick movement with his hand, as if shoving something out of sight.
Daniel crossed to him, his jaw tightening.
“I’m sorry, Daadi. I—I guess I forgot to bring the trowel.” He scrambled out of the hay mow. “I’ll get it right now.”
Daniel brushed past him, heading for the spot where the boy had been sitting.
“Daadi, let’s go plant the tomatoes.” Matthew’s voice held an edge of nerves, a sure sign that he was trying to hide something.
Leaning on the low wall of the hay mow, Daniel bent over, probing into the hay with his hand. In an instant his fingers met something hard and rectangular.
He pulled it out and stood staring, hardly believing his eyes. It was some sort of game, with blinking lights and figures moving on a tiny screen.
He swung around, holding it up in front of his son. “What is this thing?”
Matthew stared back, sullen and defiant. “It’s called an electronic game.”
“Where did you get it?” His head started to throb. He had no desire to interrogate his son, but the boy wasn’t being open with him.
Matthew didn’t answer. He just stared, and Daniel couldn’t tell what was going on behind that blank expression.
“Matthew?”
Matthew’s jaw clenched, too. Daniel felt as if he looked into a mirror. Then Matthew’s gaze slid away. He focused on the wide planks of the barn floor.
“It’s mine.” He muttered the words.
“Yours? How can it be yours?” How could an Amish child come by something like this?
“Mammi gave it to me.” The words burst out of him. “It’s mine.”
Daniel froze. He tried to swallow
, but his throat seemed paralyzed.
Help me. Show me what to say. If I say the wrong thing, I could drive a wedge between us we might never get rid of.
He took a long, slow breath. “I thought I had seen everything you brought from your mamm’s house. I have not seen this.”
Matthew’s face seemed to ease a fraction at his father’s calm tone. “I hid it.”
“Why did you do that?” He’d tried hard to be gentle and understanding in the aftermath of Ruth’s death. Had he failed so badly?
“It is English, so I knew you wouldn’t want me to have it.”
He didn’t. That was his first instinctive reaction. And then he realized that he was asking himself what Leah would advise. Leah, with her quick intelligence and her knowledge of children, would know what to do.
But Leah wasn’t here. And his children were not her concern.
“Matthew—”
“Mamm would let me have it,” Matthew blurted out. “She would.”
For just an instant he saw Ruth’s face, lit with love when she looked at their son for the first time. His heart twisted. If only they could wipe out all the pain since that moment.
But there was no going back. He could only move ahead, trying to do what God willed.
He looked at the game—so small it nestled in the palm of his hand. Its light blinked at him.
He took a deep breath, praying he was making the right choice, and held it out to his son.
“I can keep it?” Matthew stared at him, disbelief in his eyes.
“You can keep it because your mammi gave it to you. But I don’t want Elizabeth or Jonah to see it. Do you understand?”
“Ja. They won’t. I’ll keep it where they won’t see it.”
“And it’s not to interfere with chores.”
“It won’t, Daadi. I promise.” Matthew scampered to the hay loft and quickly rehid his device. “I’ll get the trowel right away.”
Matthew would come with him and plant tomatoes. But would he be thinking of planting and growing? Or would his mind be on that remnant of his English world?
• • •
“Don’t walk in the living room,” Barbara said the minute Leah came in the back door from school. “The floor is still wet.” She stood at the kitchen sink, wringing out a cloth, her sleeves pushed back.
