Hope in the Land

by Olivia Newport

  Henry’s last appointment with Mrs. Oberholzer—to say good-bye more than anything—was not until ten o’clock. He had plenty of time to track down Thomas, and it wouldn’t be hard with a car. Most likely Thomas would be on the Coblentz farm, and if he wasn’t, Henry would check the old outbuilding.

  Today marked a month since Henry’s arrival in Lancaster County. The passing of September had day by day altered the views of the countryside, rolling bright summer into shades of autumn and fields of crops into silage, uncounted bales, and hearty provisions in stacked fruit jars. The grain corn was still to come in, and fruit trees were still yielding, but the look of the land had transformed.

  The research project included a hundred Old Order Amish farms. When Henry finished up this assignment, which would be very soon, he expected to shift to another corner of the county and march toward winter in a fresh round of interviews.

  But on this day, he would make sure Thomas did the right thing.

  Henry rolled his car to a stop at the edge of Coblentz land and got out. His vantage point allowed him to see the house, but he could also see the barn and the pastures in a wide sweeping view. If he were a painter, Henry would have liked to capture this view and hang the canvas on a wall where he could stare into its promise.

  It was beautiful land, a hopeful place.

  Yet for Thomas it was not enough. That much Henry had reasoned through.

  Henry waited a few minutes, listening to sounds that would have been indistinguishable to him a few weeks ago. The flutter of chickens vying for food on the ground, the protest of a cow, the snort of a hog that would help feed the Coblentzes over the winter, the thud of a hammer coming down on a fence rail, its faint echo ringing in the mild valley that cradled the Coblentz farm.

  Henry turned toward the hammer, listening again to track the path of the sound. It could have been any one of the Coblentz brothers checking the fences around the pastures, but it was Thomas. Henry paced toward Thomas, whose eyes widened in question.

  “Polly is confused,” Henry said. “You can’t leave her like this.”

  Thomas shoved a rail deeper into its notch.

  “She thought you wanted to marry Lena,” Henry said.

  “Why would she think that?”

  Henry rolled his eyes. “Thomas, I’m here to drive you to the Grabills’ so you can set this all straight once and for all.”

  “I told you, I’m not ready yet.”

  “Think of Polly. She’s hurt and confused, and she deserves to know what’s going on.” Henry pointed. “My car is right over there.”

  Thomas dropped his hammer into a wooden toolbox and grabbed the handle. Henry stepped toward his car, expecting Thomas to be beside him. Instead, Thomas moved on down the fence, inspecting for weak rails.

  Henry lengthened his stride to catch up, wrapped his fist around the toolbox handle, and tugged.

  “Thomas, you are coming with me. And where is your proposal gift?”

  The thud of Ernie’s footsteps on the back porch tightened Minerva’s stomach. It was too late to warn him. He would hear the water running for Richard’s bath as soon he came in the door, and when he moved to the sink to wash his hands, he would feel the weaker stream that always happened if two taps were open at the same time.

  Minerva abandoned the fresh sheets she was putting on Richard’s bed and scampered to the kitchen.

  Ernie looked at her and cocked his head. The water pipes ran right through the kitchen wall.

  “It’s Richard,” she said. Too nervous to do nothing, she opened the icebox and rummaged for a bit of cold meat and pulled out the bowl of eggs Rose had boiled that morning.

  “From our own chickens,” Rose had said.

  The water pipes went silent. Ernie opened the kitchen tap.

  “He used all the hot water,” Ernie said, running his hands under the water. “Did you know he was coming?”

  Minerva took bread and jam from the cupboard. “I almost missed him. He turned up just as I was leaving.”

  Ernie exhaled. “I’m sure this pleases you.”

  “He’s sorry, Ernie. He’ll tell you himself if you give him a chance.”

  Ernie dried his hands and tossed the towel on the counter. “He left when I needed him most. Both of them did.”

  “They were grown, Ernie. We always knew it could happen.” Minerva spread jam on the bread, her hand shaking.

  “It was no time to leave, not with so much at stake for all of us.”

  Minerva arranged food on a plate. Did Richard still like a tall glass of cold milk?

  “He’s back now,” she said. “And Raymond’s the one who made sure he got here. They haven’t forgotten us.”

  “If he had any other place to be, he wouldn’t have come here.”

  “We don’t know that.” Minerva resented the suggestion. She poured milk. The bathroom door opened, and then the bedroom door closed. “He wants to work with you. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

  “There’s an empty bunk with the hands.”

  “Ernie! He’s our son.” Minerva left the plate and glass on the table and stepped to the sink, where Ernie’s feet were as implacable as his mood, and put a hand on his arm. “We didn’t used to be this way. Are we so far beyond hope?”

  Ernie gripped the edge of the sink and leaned over it. “We’ve never been so hard up. I don’t know how much longer we can hang on. The next auction notice that goes up could be ours.”

  Minerva swallowed, unable to fathom seeing their property listed on one of those heartless announcements.

  “It hasn’t happened yet,” she said. “I’ll talk to Louis at the bank. He’s still my cousin. We’ll get through the winter, and the spring will be better.”

  “We need a source of cash, Min,” Ernie said. “Has Richard brought us that?”

  “He’ll do whatever he has to. Next spring Rose can plant a bigger garden. And she loves the idea of keeping chickens.”

  Ernie twitched.

  “Gloria does quite well at it,” Minerva said. “And you want me to be more like Gloria, don’t you?”

  And you can be more like Marlin. He would welcome his son home with rejoicing. A fatted calf. A ring for his finger.

  “Chickens,” Ernie said. “Our Rose?”

  Minerva nodded. “She seems to take to the land quite well.”

  “And you’re going to let her raise chickens?”

  Minerva sucked in her lips. Chickens she kept to start their own flock would be money she did not earn, at least right now.

  “We’ll need space in the barn,” Minerva said. “After all, Gloria is taking the shed.”

  Ernie laughed again. “After all the years we’ve been married, I never expected my wife to barter.”

  She would have to drive a harder bargain for the chickens and eggs she sold to make up the cash value of the ones she would keep. The debt still choked her.

  Release eased across Ernie’s face, and the tension in his arm gave way.

  “Minerva,” he said, “you have surprised me.”

  She put a hand against his cheek, as she had Richard’s a few minutes earlier. “You can call me Min.”

  “You hate that.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “I only started that when you didn’t want to be Minnie anymore.”

  “Perhaps I don’t want to go that far,” she said, “but I’m doing a lot of things I never expected to do.”

  Ernie turned and looked over her shoulder. Minerva followed his gaze.

  Richard stood in the doorframe.

  Polly puffed her cheeks. If being excluded from farmwork for a few weeks because of her injured foot had brought any blessing, it was that her mother had not allowed her in the poultry sheds. But she was balancing well now and wearing her own shoes. There was no reason not to take up her normal contributions to the household’s labor, even if the task involved chickens. Rose was beside her with a far more enchanted expression on her face than Polly imagined on he
r own.

  “I thought your mother was coming,” Polly said, raking through the mess on the floor.

  Rose smoothed her hands over a hen’s wings and picked it up. She was getting quite good at handling the chickens in just a few days.

  “I’m glad I didn’t wait to ride over with her,” Rose said. “I can’t imagine what’s keeping her.”

  Lillian would be thumping her foot on the front porch at any minute. Eleanor had already packed a small bag with the few things Toddy might need for the day’s outing.

  An engine rumbled down the lane.

  “Here she is now,” Polly said.

  Rose shook her head. “The truck makes more noise.”

  Together they stepped to the opening where they could look out.

  “It’s Henry,” Rose said.

  Polly smiled at the cheer in her friend’s voice.

  “And he has Thomas,” Rose said.

  Polly blinked at the slowing car.

  “What do you suppose they’re doing together?” Rose asked.

  Polly shrugged and offered no speculation—or evidence that her stomach was twisting.

  Rose waved, and the men exited the car and started toward the poultry sheds.

  “Polly,” Henry called, “Thomas needs to talk to you.”

  Despite her determination not to, Polly looked down at the mess of her apron. Anything would be better than looking Thomas in the eye. Polly stepped deeper into the shed. When the shed door slammed closed, she turned away and picked up a rake.

  “Don’t bother with that.”

  Polly spun around toward her mother’s voice.

  “Rose,” Mamm said, “why don’t you go say hello to Henry?”

  Polly protested. “That’s not necessary.”

  But Rose nodded and ducked out.

  “You must talk to Thomas,” Mamm said. “Even more, you must listen. A wife will make or break a household.”

  Mamm should talk to Lena. She was the one who would be a wife.

  “I’m going to send Thomas in,” Mamm said, “and if you try to go out the other end of the sheds, you will discover how quickly I can get there as well.”

  “I’m too embarrassed,” Polly said. “Too confused. Too … everything.”

  “I promise you, this will not be the last time you feel this way. But do not waste your days, and do not squander your hope. Or Thomas’s.”

  Polly heaved out her breath.

  “I’m going to send him in now.”

  “He probably left already,” Polly said.

  “I suspect Henry was prepared to oppose that notion.”

  Mamm escaped into the sunlight, and the next form to darken the low doorway was Thomas. Behind Polly, a throng of hens fluttered in response to Thomas’s entry. She ignored them as she rotated to meet his eyes.

  Thomas licked his lips, and his Adam’s apple made its way down his throat.

  “What is it, Thomas?” No matter what, Polly would never let him know he had hurt her. But if Thomas was not courting Lena, then who had drawn him away from her?

  “Is this what you truly want?” He gestured around the shed.

  Polly released the rake still in her hand and leaned it in a corner. Chickens came with a farm, and the Amish all farmed. She didn’t have to like caring for chickens. Thomas’s question made no sense.

  “A big farm, like your family’s or mine,” Thomas said. “Is that what you truly want?”

  Polly hid her hands under her apron. “I don’t understand what you’re asking, Thomas.”

  “I don’t want to be a farmer.” Thomas’s eyes dropped to the planked floor.

  “But you’ve been saving for a down payment on land for years.”

  He shook his head and raised his eyes to meet hers again. “My daed gave me a little bit of money because he wanted to be sure I got my share after all the other brothers while he still had something to give. And some of what our gardens and orchards produce is mine as well. Daed supposes I am selling goods to add to my savings.”

  Polly’s stomach crashed. “What are you saying, Thomas?”

  “I haven’t been saving for a farm. I’ve been buying stock so that I can open a small general store.”

  “You want to keep a store?”

  He nodded.

  “There is already a general store in town.”

  He nodded again. “I am not sure yet where mine will be located. I might start with a stand or go to the farms and sell out of the back of a wagon.”

  “But … what about … are you …?”

  “I’m not a very good farmer, Polly.”

  “But your mother tells people that you are the best of all her sons.”

  “It’s Zephram.” Thomas shifted a bundle under his arm. “We like to be together, so we do his work and then we do mine. I can grow vegetables and a few fruit trees and a bit of corn, but he is the one who understands the soil and when to pray that God will send rain or sun.”

  “In your heart, you are not a farmer,” Polly said. “Is this what you are telling me?”

  “I know a family needs to be close to the land to be close to God,” Thomas said. “But a store meets a need as well, does it not?”

  Polly nodded. Thread and rope and oil and sugar and fruit jars and paper—she could think of dozens of items even Amish families purchased at stores.

  Thomas unwrapped the bundle in his hands and held out a maple box. Breath filled Polly’s chest, and she was afraid to let it out. The carving was some of the best she had ever seen.

  “This is why I was talking to Lena,” Thomas said. “To make something that would please you.”

  Unable to still the trembling of her hands, Polly lifted the box from its flour sack cradle.

  “If I say I’ve definitely decided to keep a store,” Thomas said, “will you still want me?”

  No doubt Henry and Rose expected Gloria to shuffle past them and on to her next task. If Minerva saw what Gloria saw, her neck would bulge.

  But Gloria found it sweet, and she paused for a few moments to gauge their absorption with each other. She had never seen that particular expression in Rose’s features before. And if Lena and Polly were old enough to know what they wanted, so was Rose. They were all older than Gloria had been when Marlin wrapped his love around her uncertain heart. If Henry had an ounce of sense left in him, he would not close his eyes to the obvious. He would need courage to face Minerva, but Ernie would be on his side.

  Rose turned her head, smiled at Gloria, and looked through the open door and into the poultry shed.

  “It’s about time!” Rose lost control of a laugh before slapping a hand over her mouth.

  “What is it?” Henry stepped toward the shed.

  Rose grabbed his arm. “You can’t go in there right now.”

  Gloria didn’t have to turn around to see the reason for Rose’s caution. By now Thomas would have her daughter in his arms where she belonged.

  CHAPTER 47

  I wanted to tell you.” Lena’s blue eyes, wistful, settled on Polly. “You should have been first.”

  Polly looked up from the list she was scratching out. Deciding to marry—rather than merely hoping to marry—swirled details in her mind with such constancy that she now kept a small pad of paper tucked into the band of her apron. In one week a muddle of heartache and bewilderment had become a firm vision.

  “The only reason I told Sylvia first,” Lena said, “was because she caught me reading a letter from Johann.”

  “But you never get any letters,” Polly said.

  “He sent them to his cousin, and he would save them until a church Sunday.”

  “You kept your secret well.”

  “Right until the end. When Sylvia started grabbing for the letter where Johann said when he was coming to speak to Daed, I had to explain.”

  “And then she couldn’t keep a secret.”

  Lena nodded.

  “We can’t control everything,” Polly said. She had learned this lesson we
ll.

  “Forgive me?”

  Polly nodded.

  “And now you and Thomas!” Lena clapped her hands once. “Two weddings in one autumn.”

  Polly laughed. “And Mamm didn’t plant even one extra row of celery. Where will she find enough for two?”

  “Maybe we don’t need enough for two.”

  Polly’s eyebrows folded toward each other. “Don’t you want a traditional wedding?”

  “Of course.” Lena eased into the chair beside Polly. “But with one exception.”

  “No celery?”

  “No. Two brides. Let’s get married together.”

  Polly inhaled the aroma of this suggestion.

  “We’ve shared everything else since the day I was born,” Lena said. “Let’s share one last day before I move to Somerset.”

  “Our sisters can stand with us.”

  “And Thomas and Johann both have brothers.”

  “But will they agree?” Polly reined in the anticipation of what her mind’s eye saw as surely as if it were already true. “Shouldn’t we ask them first?”

  “Johann is coming to stay with his cousin for the weekend,” Lena said. “I’ll ask him if you’ll ask Thomas.”

  Polly bobbed her head. “The first chance I get.”

  “First Thursday in December?”

  “We can talk to the bishop together.”

  Lena’s features sobered. “Polly.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve been the best big sister I could want. I’m going to miss you.”

  A swelling threatened to block the air moving through Polly’s throat. “You’re going to Somerset, not the moon.”

  “It won’t always be like this again. We’ll be wives and, if God wills, mothers by this time next year.”

  “You’re my sister,” Polly said. “The first sister I ever had. That will never change.”

  Lena stood up. “I promised Mamm I would check on the steer. She’s worried one of them is feeling poorly again.”

  A week earlier, Polly would have envied Lena’s ease with the livestock. No more. She and Thomas had filled the week with conversations of how they would stay close to the land, remain faithful to the church, and serve their people with the gifts they saw in each other. And none of that involved raising steer.