A Simple Hope

by Rosalind Lauer

James nodded. “And you don’t want to crush your blue hair.”

  When Shandell laughed aloud, it was a happy sound, like the breeze jangling the new leaves. “Are you saying you don’t like my blue hair?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He grinned. “But I might have thought it.”

  With another chuckle, she sat on the splitting stump and raked her hair back with both hands. “I really am a mess, James. I admit that. I guess it was easy to leave because I didn’t have a lot of good things going on. I’m supposed to be graduating from high school, but I got a notice that I was failing algebra.” She shook her head. “I didn’t have much going on. I figured there was no reason to stay.”

  “But now … now you want to go home?”

  “I do. I miss my mom. I miss the comforts of home. I’m a lousy camper, and I’m not a very good fugitive.” She sighed. “Isn’t this crazy? Me, sitting here telling you my life story like we’re old friends.”

  “Ya.” She was right on that. Many boundaries had been crossed between them—maybe too quickly—but there was no going back. “And with all your questions, you’ve gotten more out of me than most.”

  “You’re the sanest person I’ve met in a long time.” When he squinted at her, she added, “That’s a good thing.”

  James frowned. He knew he should not get involved with this Englisher girl. She was not Plain and he suspected that she had been in more trouble than she admitted. It was not appropriate for a young Amish man to spend time with a young Englisher girl. And his father had become strict about separating from all Englishers. Every bit of common sense told him no.

  But it was too late. He was already getting to know her. He was already involved. And his conscience kept reminding him of the Bible story of the Good Samaritan. He had to help her.

  “I’d better get back to the house. I don’t want to stir anything up, me being gone for too long.” James knew his family would worry if he was gone for too long without anyone seeing him around the orchard.

  That was how family was—something Shandell didn’t seem to know about.

  He put his hands on the rims of the wheels, then remembered the food in his satchel. “I brought you something.” He reached into the side pocket and removed a thermos of milk, some biscuits, and hard-boiled eggs. “I know you brought granola bars, but no one can resist Mamm’s biscuits.”

  “They look delish. Thanks.” Her eyes grew wide as she picked out an orange egg. “Easter eggs! Mom and I used to make these.”

  “I’ll pick up the thermos tomorrow. Probably in the afternoon.” With the treatments in Paradise scheduled for each morning, James would have to switch his morning trip out to the sugar shack to later in the day.

  “I’ll be here. Not like I’ve got anywhere else to go.” She shrugged. “I’m usually a night owl, but when you live in the woods without electricity, there’s no reason to stay up. I figured that part out the past few nights. So, you’re telling me it’s okay to stay until my mom comes?”

  What was he to do? James had always followed the rules of his father, but never before had he seen his father’s rules cross the path of Gott. He knew there would be trouble if his dat found out, but his father never came out this way. No one but James bothered with this wooded end of the orchard.

  He nodded. “Stay close to the shack and away from the orchards so no one’s the wiser. There’ll be a stir if my father or brothers see you. Stick close and you’ll be safe here.”

  She called a good-bye as he rolled back under the canopy of green leaves, surrounded by birdsong. This was the first time in his life he had faced such a crossroads—one path leading to the approval of his father, the other showing him the way the Savior would have walked.

  Maybe he was moving toward trouble, but his heart was light with surprising relief that he had followed the Golden Rule. Heading into the gentle breeze, James knew he would sleep well tonight.

  “Rain, rain, rain,” Rachel said with a sigh. The highway before them glistened, as fat drops tapped the umbrella she held over Ben and herself on the gray Tuesday morning. Stubborn Ben had insisted on taking his open buggy when he was asked to drop her by the Lapps’ on his way to the feed store, and now the sky was opening up on them.

  “I don’t mind it,” Ben said. “It’s part of the growing season.”

  “Ya, but you’re already full grown,” she teased. She knew that the crops needed rain, but this morning she could have used a bright, sunny sky to boost her confidence. She wasn’t sure how James would take to her driving him into town.

  “There you go.” Ben stopped the buggy at the top of the orchard lane. “Take that umbrella with you. I can’t be bothered with it.”

  Holding the umbrella aloft, she climbed out of the buggy. “Don’t get too wet,” she told her brother.

  Ben adjusted the brim of his black hat. “I’m like a duck. If I can’t fly between the raindrops, I’ll swim.” With that, he called to the horse, and the buggy took off at a good pace.

  Ben seemed to have two speeds on the road: fast and faster. Sometimes Rachel wondered if he would ever settle down. On the other hand, she could take a lesson from the way he plunged into things headfirst. Sometimes, Rachel let doubt hold her back.

  She faced the narrow road that curved down to the white, two-story house trimmed in black where James and his family were no doubt in the midst of morning chores. Ready or not, here I come.

  She considered going to the barn first. She might catch Luke and Peter on their way out to the orchard. Mark would be there, tending the horses before school, or maybe even hitching a gray carriage for them. Talking with his siblings would be a way for her to test the waters and gauge James’s mood. But as she approached the house, she felt a presence, like the big eyes of an owl upon her.

  And there he was, watching from his wheelchair on the covered porch.

  Emotion was a fist inside her, tight and trembling, as she met his gaze and headed straight toward him.

  “Rachel?” He tipped his hat back, his chin lifted in defiance as she reached the steps. “This isn’t a good time for a visit. I’m leaving for Paradise soon.”

  Oh, why couldn’t this be easier? “That’s why I’m here.” She paused under the overhang, letting her umbrella sway back on her shoulder. “I’m your driver.”

  The confusion in his smoky eyes tugged at her. “Why would you do that?”

  Because I want to be with you. Because I would do anything in the world to help you. Because I love you …

  There were so many answers, but she couldn’t make her lips form the words.

  “I asked her.” Edna stood at the door, two fingers poised over the pink scar on her chin in a thoughtful expression. “We told Dr. Finley we’d get you there six days a week, and that’s a big commitment. Rachel here is willing to help us out, and her parents can spare her, though I’m sure it’s a hardship for them.” She nodded to Rachel. “Tell Nate and Betsy we’re ever so grateful.”

  Lowering her umbrella, Rachel gave a slight smile. It hadn’t been easy, convincing her parents to reassign her usual chores. Rachel had promised to work harder when she was home to pick up some of the slack. Mamm had been reluctant, but Dat had pointed out that a person in need could not be denied goodwill.

  “It’s not as simple as that,” James said. “Rachel doesn’t know how to help me in and out of the carriage.”

  “But she can learn, like anyone else,” Edna said. “Besides, your brothers will help you in on this end and the staff at the clinic will come out and get you into the wheelchair.”

  “I’m stronger than I look,” Rachel said, shaking water from the umbrella. It would be best to steer clear of James’s exchange with his mamm. Somehow, she wanted him to know this was Edna’s idea, and not hers. She didn’t want James to think she was sniffing after him like a hungry dog.

  “So that’s that,” Edna said, smoothing down her apron. “I’ve got Mark hitching up a carriage for you. You’d best head down to the barn and get goin
g so you won’t be late. I’ll bring out a lunch pail for you.” She opened the door and disappeared inside.

  Her hands wrapped around the hook of the umbrella handle, Rachel was afraid to look up at James, afraid to see resentment and rejection on his face. Staring at the window box of red and white pansies, she asked, “Want me to push you out to the barn?”

  “I can do it.” From the crisp tone of his voice, she knew it would be a long trip to Paradise. “And, Rachel?”

  She had no choice but to look up and take in his handsome face: strong cheekbones and angles, and those smoky eyes that could take her breath away. Bracing, she pressed her lips together, fearful of what he might say.

  And then his brown eyes warmed as he smiled. “Denki. Your good help is much appreciated.”

  Awash with relief, she nodded. Then, all too soon, the moment was over and she was following him down the ramp.

  The journey to Paradise went quickly, with James telling her about how the doctors had set up all the electrodes on his back to bathe his spine in electricity.

  “And how does electricity feel?” she asked. Everyone knew that a bolt of lightning could kill a person in an instant, so it seemed odd to be using electricity as a cure for paralysis.

  “It felt fine. Relaxing. A bit like a warm bath, but also like pins and needles when your foot falls asleep. The treatment is a piece of cake compared to the physical therapy. That’s always like a hard day’s work.”

  As he talked of the new doctors and technicians, Rachel’s chest swelled with appreciation for the effort James put into his treatment. He tried so hard! He really gave it every ounce of strength that he had. She prayed that Gott would bless him with a cure someday. James would never give up.

  At the clinic, the technician told her she would have at least a four-hour wait. Watching them wheel James down the hall, Rachel knew she would need to find something to fill the time. Why hadn’t she thought to bring her paints or some mending? A sketchbook and some watercolors? It had been a while since she’d worked with the muted tones of watercolors, but she always enjoyed experimenting, blending and swirling simple lines of paint.

  To pass the time, she decided to ride back to Halfway and visit with Elsie, whose Country Store was always a hub of activity. It would give Rachel a chance to check on her paintings and see if any had been purchased. Elsie had sold many of Rachel’s canvases in the shop, and she’d always been encouraging about the prospect of placing them in the gallery in the city.

  As she was tying Ranger to a hitching post, she could see that the shop was hopping with tourists. A small busload of women, all of them wearing red hats, were scattered through the shop like ants claiming the delicacies at a picnic. From her stool at the counter, Elsie juggled purchases and questions with her usual charm and grace. Ruben waited on customers in the aisles, measuring boxes of Amishmade fudge for them or carrying larger purchases out to the bus.

  Seeing Rachel at the door, Elsie gave her a nod. “There’s the artist herself—Rachel King. You can ask her your questions in person.”

  Rachel was joined at the counter by a woman with jet-black hair that swept gracefully over one eye. She wore a short brown leather jacket and a lovely patchwork skirt in blues, reds, and yellows that trailed the top of brown boots. Noticeably younger than the other ladies, this one wasn’t wearing a red hat.

  “Rachel?” The woman’s brows lifted. “I’m Kiki Grant, a designer for Bailey and Flood.”

  Although Rachel had never heard of this Bailey person, she gladly shook the woman’s hand.

  “I was just asking Elsie if you do commissions because I have two customers who would be thrilled to have some of your pieces in their collections.” Kiki pointed out a large painting, two by five feet, which showed a quilt blowing in the breeze from a clothesline. “I’m wondering if you might want to do two more quilt paintings on the same size canvas. One of my customers loves this piece, but she has a large space to fill, and three is such a perfect number in design.”

  “Two more paintings of quilts in a yard?” It was a scene that brought peace to Rachel’s heart. Rendering the quilts was a challenge, as she needed to get the designs just right, but it was satisfying to see it come together. Almost like completing a quilt. Rachel had given most of her savings to the fund for James’s medical bills, but she probably had enough left to purchase the large canvases. She could buy them today at the art supply store in Paradise.

  “Wunderbar!” Kiki spoke the German word with a clap of her hands. “Your work will be the centerpiece of their great room, which they want to be cozy and Americana. And I’m sorely tempted by the Amish doll piece, too.” Kiki wagged a finger at a small painting of a faceless boy doll with a little straw hat and pants with suspenders. “You really are a talent, Miss Rachel. I predict great success. Once people discover you, you’re going to be a star.”

  “Oh, I’m not looking for that.” Rachel’s face grew warm with embarrassment at the idea of being compared to a beautiful sparkling star in the heavenly sky. “Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy painting, and I do it because I know Gott gave me this talent. But I don’t want to be singled out as someone special. Just because I paint pictures, it doesn’t mean I’m better than anyone else.”

  “Talented and modest, too,” Kiki said. “I respect that. I can keep your reputation as low-key or high-profile as you want.”

  Rachel shrugged. She had been hoping to support herself and James on the money she made by selling her paintings; she hadn’t given a thought to reputation. “I don’t want to attract too much attention.” The bishop didn’t mind her painting scenes of Amish life—things like farms and quilts, milk jugs and buggies—as long as she didn’t show Amish folks in them. Rachel was content with that. But if her canvases got popular—if she became a star—that wouldn’t be good. Folks would think she was full of pride, and she would be attracting a lot of attention for being special instead of blending in with the other Plain folk in Halfway. “I’ll do the two paintings, but I don’t want any fuss.”

  “That we can do,” Kiki said with a wink.

  The designer wanted to give Rachel a down payment to “lock in a commitment,” as she said, but Rachel didn’t think it was right to take money in advance. Kiki put a “sold” sign on the painting in the shop, and Rachel wrote down the size of the canvases Kiki wanted, the basic color scheme, and the date that they would be due. Maybe she could get some painting done while James was getting his treatment in Paradise. If she could work out something with Pepper, the owner of the art store there, it would be a very useful way to spend her waiting time.

  By the time Rachel finished with Kiki, the red hat ladies were filing out of the store, heading into the bus parked out front. The quiet that fell over the shop was welcome. Now Rachel could enjoy the many treasures found here—the scented lavender soaps, the magnificent quilts, so full of love and artistry, the handmade birdhouses that resembled tiny homes with tiled rooftops and miniature porthole doors.

  “Sometimes, I think I would like to be a little mouse,” she told Elsie and Ruben. “So I could stay in your shop after dark and make a little home here. I could take a little nap on a handmade hot pad or make a cozy home in a birdhouse.”

  “Ya.” Ruben grinned. “And you could grow fat on the cheese and fudge that we sell. You would never have to leave the shop.”

  “Oh, that’s very cute.” Elsie’s face glowed with glee. “But dear Rachel, you don’t have to be a little mouse to hide away in our shop. You are always welcome. Oh, and it seems we’re already a hiding place. Didn’t you hear we had an Englisher girl hiding in here, just a few days ago?”

  “I didn’t hear. What happened?”

  As Elsie told her the story of the teenaged girl hiding from a very bad fella, Rachel picked up a small Amish doll in her hands and touched the miniature black kapp. There was something special about these faceless dolls, on account of each of them being different. Each one was special. They were handmade, usually with a litt
le girl in mind. Rachel still had one that Mamm had made for her when she was little, and there were others in the house that had been sewn by Mammi Nell, dolls that Molly still played with when they weren’t sitting on the shelf by her bed.

  “How is it that this girl can be wandering on her own with no one caring about her?” Rachel asked when Elsie finished her story. “Does she have a mamm or dat?”

  “In the end her mother came to get her,” Ruben said. “But plenty of young people go wandering. What about the Amish youth who leave home during rumspringa?”

  “That’s true, but they seem different. I know their parents are wanting them back.” Rachel looked to Elsie, who smiled. Neither of them had pushed the limits much during their own “running around” time. As her thumb moved over the stitching of the doll, Rachel wondered how long it would take to sew such a sweet little toy. One day, she would be making a doll like that for her own daughter. She bit back a smile. Oh, if only it was true! The ride in to Paradise had been marked by easy conversation with James, but he hadn’t apologized or taken back his words. As far as he was concerned, they were no longer a couple.

  But she had to put her faith in Gott. The Almighty had a plan for them, and Rachel felt sure they were supposed to be together.

  She squeezed the doll as longing surged through her. Someday, Gott willing, Rachel would be James’s wife, and her hands would work a needle through a tiny kapp to sew a doll for their little girl.

  “So Kiki Grant wants to buy some paintings,” Elsie said. “She’s already reserved that one over there.”

  “That’s a good sale,” Ruben added as he carried a box off to the storeroom.

  “Ya.” Rachel smiled at his retreating figure, then leaned over the counter to confide in Elsie. “And the sale would be in the nick of time. I’m starting to save for a house for me and James. It might have to be specially built with a ramp and such, depending on how his recovery goes.”

  Elsie squeezed her hand, her mouth open in an O of surprise. “So you’re moving toward marriage? Ruben and me, too. I guess we’ll be in the same group for baptism.”