by Mary Ellis
During the drive to the neighboring farm, he mulled over his conversation with Jonas. There wasn’t anything else he could have said. The deacon’s don’t-worry-everything-will-be-fine attitude would lead to nothing but condemnation for the congregation. Unfortunately, nothing improved his mood once he reached the Petersheim homestead. Ruth and James hurried out to his buggy before he even set the brake.
“Guder nachmittag, Solomon,” greeted James. “We were expecting the bishop.”
“Because I live closer, he asked me to come. If my warning doesn’t do the trick, he’ll step in as the person of authority.” Sol climbed down stiffly.
“Shall I turn your horse into the corral?” James pulled on his suspenders.
“Nein. Just tie up my rig in the shade and perhaps bring her a bucket of water. This shouldn’t take long.”
“How about something to eat?” asked Ruth.
“Danki, but I ate a sandwich along the way. Rosanna has pie for me when I get home.” Sol handed James the reins. “Tell me the problem.”
“Our boarder, Elam Detweiler, is tinkering with his car behind the barn. We told him to keep the vehicle out of sight.”
“You said he was drinking in your home?”
Ruth nodded, growing very pale. “Jah. When I ran the dry mop under his bed on cleaning day, out rolled a bottle of vodka—half gone.”
“I confronted him,” interjected James. “And he admitted it was his, but he said that because he hadn’t joined the church, he didn’t feel it was our concern.” The farmer looked more confused than angry. “It’s very much our concern. We have young ones to worry about.”
“I will deal with this.” Without further discussion, Sol marched to meet Nora’s friend—the same friend who had taken Violet to a cookout. He proved easy enough to locate.
A tall, muscular man of around twenty-two was bent under the hood of a red car. He wore Amish pants and shirt, but not the dressy black clothes for Sundays. And his long hair was tied in a ponytail similar to those worn by English teenagers.
Sol reached the side of the vehicle without the man raising his head. He cleared his throat. “I am Minister Solomon Trask.”
Elam peered up with a black smudge on his chin. “How ya doing? I met your daughter Violet. She’s real nice.” He resumed banging under the hood with a wrench. “Say, do you know anything about engines? A guy where I work said my car burns oil. I added another quart, but I’d like to fix what’s wrong. Burning oil can get expensive in a hurry.” He whacked another part with the tool.
“I certainly don’t know anything about engines,” said Sol, indignantly. “And this car is one of the matters we need to discuss, if I can have your full attention.”
Elam straightened his back, laying down the wrench. His pleasant expression faded rapidly as he wiped his hands on a rag. “I’m on rumschpringe. I haven’t joined the district yet.”
“I understand, but even so you aren’t to drive this car to Amish social gatherings. And because Gingerich Lumber is owned by our deacon, I’d prefer you not use it to get to work either.”
Elam tipped his head back and massaged the muscles of his neck. “The lumberyard is too far away to reach by six o’clock. That’s my starting time. Besides, I don’t have money to buy a rig right now. I just caught up with the rent I owed.” He trained his coal-black eyes on the minister.
Sol considered for a moment. “All right, you may use it for work until your baptism. But the Petersheims said you have been drinking. They have every right to expect abstinence in their home.” He narrowed his eyes into a glare.
“Jah, I expected as much. I won’t drink anymore on their property.” The young man turned his attention back to the mysterious machinery under the hood.
His response wasn’t remotely satisfactory to Solomon. “We prefer little to no alcohol use among members. If you’re planning on remaining here, I suggest you get used to that rule now. And in the meantime, I don’t want you ever driving my daughter Violet anywhere. I won’t have her life endangered.” Sol considered adding “or her friend, Nora King, either” to his demand, but he knew he didn’t have the right. He waited for Elam to nod or somehow acknowledge agreement, but he continued to bang away on the engine instead.
So Solomon set his hat on his head and turned on his heel, close to losing his temper for the second time that day.
“Am I walking too fast?” asked Emily.
That was the third time she had asked the same question, so Nora responded with her third matching reply. “No, this speed is good exercise for me.” She struggled to keep up with her boss. Nora loved her job…except for the walk to work three days a week.
If Emily suspects her pace is too fast, why doesn’t she just slow down?
“Today is our early day,” said Emily, not remotely out of breath. “I hope we can unload the tubs Jonas delivered before the locals start coming in. Sometimes Plain folk are worse than tourists with heeding posted store hours.”
When they turned the corner, Grain of Life bakery loomed into view. Nora whispered a prayer of gratitude that she hadn’t fallen down dead on the side of the road. “I love Thursdays, when people drop by for coffee and a few cookies, if not for full pies,” she said, silently hoping Elam would be one of those people on his way home from work. Nora hadn’t seen or heard from him since last Friday at the singing. He’d been sweet and attentive while roasting her hot dog just the way she preferred, but when she realized he had been drinking and confronted him about it, the evening had been ruined.
Had anyone else down by the bonfire suspected his condition? She cringed at the thought. She couldn’t help but be grateful that Violet had already left the get-together by then. Elam’s drinking had caused him problems in Maine. At least he promised to stop for her sake, before it caused problems for both of them in Paradise.
“I hope the ice didn’t melt in the cooler.” Emily’s worry broke Nora’s daydreaming as they unlocked the door and entered the bakery.
Nora began opening windows. May was much warmer in Missouri than at her last two addresses. “It’s only been a couple hours since Jonas delivered the totes, and we packed the pies in plenty of ice.”
“Jah, true.” Emily flicked the switch for the propane refrigerated display case. “The Amish love cream pies in warm weather even more so than Englischers. I think it’s because Plain women don’t often bake pies that must be kept cold.”
Nora laughed. “I doubt they’ll last long enough to spoil even without refrigeration. What type did you make?”
Emily dragged the cooler across the floor from the back porch. “Coconut cream, lemon meringue, and chocolate cream pies—three of each. I’m raising my price to eight dollars this year to see if anyone will pay it. The cost of sugar and butter keeps going up.”
“I would charge nine if I were you. Why not see what happens? You can always drop the price if they sit in the display case ignored.” Nora carried in the rest of the plastic bins of fruit tarts and pies. She neatly arranged them on shelves with prices marked on each one. She had just finished wiping down the countertop with spray cleaner when the bell jangled.
“Exactly ten o’clock,” crowed Emily. “What did I tell you about eager beavers?”
Nora glanced up and froze. Solomon Trask entered the shop and swept off his hat. His flyaway hair stood on end from static electricity like a white cloud.
“You’re an early bird, Sol. Our first customer of the day.” Emily pulled a clean apron over her head and walked to the counter.
“Guder mariye, Emily, Nora. Do you have any cream pies?” He twirled his hat brim between his fingers.
“Three different kinds.” She pointed down into the display. “But I reckon I know which one you want. How is Violet? I didn’t have a chance to see her last Sunday.”
The minister’s face turned beet red. “She’s fine and sends her regards with compliments on the peach pie you left.” He looked as uncomfortable as a chicken in a coyote den. After a few mome
nts of shuffling his feet, he bent down to study the contents of the shelves. “Ah, there they are. How much for the coconut cream?”
Emily hesitated for half a moment. “Nine dollars.”
“All right, I’ll take two. But first I have a matter to discuss with Nora, if you don’t mind.”
“With me?” croaked Nora, sounding like a frog.
“Jah, if I may interrupt your work.”
Because she wasn’t actually doing anything, Nora walked to the counter on leaden legs.
“I met your friend who also moved from Maine—Elam Detweiler.” Sol paused as though she needed time to place the name to a face. “I visited him yesterday at the farm where he rents a room. He has acquired several habits not in keeping with our Ordnung. I’m worried about the man’s future in our community.”
“Elam hasn’t taken the kneeling vow yet,” said Nora, gripping the edge of the display.
“That is true. I’ll say no more about him because it’s not my desire to spread gossip. But you are Violet’s friend—is that not so?” He stroked his long beard.
“It is,” she declared. “I like her very much.” Fear bloomed in Nora’s gut. She’d finally found a true friend. Would Violet be taken from her so soon?
“Gut to hear. That’s why I’m cautioning you not to let the actions of others taint your reputation.”
Emily put an arm around Nora’s waist in a show of support. “Let’s hope others will judge Nora by her own deeds.”
Solomon wasn’t daunted by the challenge. “I hope for the same, Emily, but I’ve lived long enough to witness what happens when young women run with the wrong kind of men. She might one day wish to court others, but they may spurn her.”
“Elam isn’t the wrong kind,” said Nora, finding backbone she didn’t know she had. “He’s simply spirited and independent and wants to discover the world before he settles down.”
Solomon Trask seemed to age before their eyes. “Perhaps you’re right and he’ll join our district eventually. But in the meantime, he isn’t to drive my Violet anywhere, whether in car or buggy. I won’t have her life put in danger. Do you understand?” His voice took on a sharp edge.
“I understand,” she said in a barely audible voice.
“Don’t misinterpret me. You are welcome in our home and I encourage your friendship with Violet. But she isn’t to be part of any threesome for outings or events with that Detweiler man.” Several seconds spun out in the warm bakery. The women stared at the preacher while he now remained calm and unruffled.
Nora crossed and uncrossed her arms. “Your daughter was first to welcome me to the community. I will always be grateful to her, besides thinking she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.” She swallowed the rest of her comment. Violet must take after her mamm in personality and temperament.
“Shall I box up the two pies now?” asked Emily on her way to the cash register. “That will be eighteen dollars.”
Sol stood rooted to the polished wood floor as though unsure how to proceed. Nora backed up to the table. Surely he wouldn’t beat the issue of her friendship with Elam into the ground.
He cleared his throat and tucked his hands under his suspenders like a statesman from Colonial times. “Emily, if the job is still open, I accept the offer on Violet’s behalf.”
Neither woman spoke. They appeared to have been struck dumb.
“Have you already hired someone else?” he asked after a few silent moments.
“Nein.” Emily finally found her voice. “The job is hers if she wants it, three days per week. I’ll write down the hours of operation on a paper.” She reached for her tablet and pen. “You just took me by surprise, Sol.”
“Jah, I imagine so.” He focused on Nora. “I don’t want you to think I hold Elam’s behavior against you. Emily is right. Each person should be judged by their own actions. And you have done nothing to warrant my censure.”
“Danki,” murmured Nora, unsure why she thanked him.
“And if your offer to pick Violet up still stands, I would be obliged.”
“Of course. I pass by your place anyway. And we can sure use her help.” Nora’s smile widened upon realizing she would no longer have to walk to work.
Sol lowered his chin. “There’ll be extra fuss for you. I’m afraid you’ll have to fold up the wheelchair and carry it back and forth.”
“That is no problem. It would be my pleasure to help.” Nora reached for two pies from the cooler case. “Coconut cream, did you say?”
“Jah, that’s correct. Did you say nine dollars each, Emily? I’ll take two dozen chocolate chip cookies too.” He dug his wallet from a hidden inside pocket.
“The pies are sixteen and the cookies six dollars for two dozen.” Emily appeared to be holding back laughter. “You and Rosanna now qualify for the employee discount.” She took his money while Nora boxed the pies and handed him a sack of cookies.
“Good day to you both.” He tipped his hat and left with his purchases.
The two women just stood and stared at each other.
“Doesn’t that beat all,” said Nora.
“Just when you think you have a person figured out.” Emily shook her head and watched the door as though expecting him to return.
But Nora started mixing more chocolate chip dough. She was going to bake enough cookies today to allow plenty of chitchat time tomorrow.
SIX
That fountain in his day
Solomon debated how to spend the rest of his afternoon. He should hurry home before the coconut cream pies turned runny and warm, but one piece of district business still remained. He needed to stop at the Huffman farm to see how they fared. The husband suffered from kidney disease and remained weak after frequent dialysis treatments. Mrs. Huffman had recently given birth to their seventh child. A son would have been nice to take over the farm someday, but instead God delivered another daughter to the couple. Just for a moment, he wished their Ordnung allowed the practice of birth control in unusual circumstances. This would be another mouth to feed for a man who couldn’t provide for the mouths he already had. But Sol banished the notion. His fellow district members would have to pitch in until a kidney became available for transplant and John got back on his feet.
Spying the bag of cookies on the seat, he turned his horse into the next driveway. The kinner would love a sweet treat while their mamm took care of more practical dietary requirements. As the buggy jostled up the rutted and potholed lane, Sol noticed he wasn’t the only visitor to the Huffman farm. A small bus had parked cockeyed on the lawn, and its occupants were pouring out like bees from a hive. And, like insects, people dispersed in every direction, each one carrying a camera.
“Oh, no. Not again,” he muttered. Sol parked in the shade of a leafy maple and climbed down with his sack of cookies. He would check on John and Deborah, make a list of repairs or chores needing immediate attention, and distribute the treats. He could still be home before the whipped cream topping sunk into the coconut cream filling.
Whatever business these Englischers had wasn’t his business…until a teenager ran up and took his photograph. “See here, miss,” he called. “I want you to destroy that photograph this instant!”
The girl peered over her shoulder, surprised, as she walked back to her parents.
Sol marched to the knot of adults chatting under a tree with two of the Huffman youngsters. “Did you hear me, young lady? I want that picture of me exposed to the light.” He shook with fury at the rude disregard of his culture.
The girl’s father held up a hand. “Simmer down, old-timer. My daughter didn’t mean any harm. She’ll erase the photo, no problem. Say, are these kids your grandchildren?” He pointed at five-year-old twin sisters. “We shared some gumdrops we bought at the store in Sturgeon. They sure love them.”
Solomon blinked. “They most certainly are not. I’m a minister of this district, and we do not permit pictures to be taken.”
“Why is that?” asked the dad.
“I’m just curious.”
“Because you’re creating a graven image of my likeness with that.” He pointed to the camera in the girl’s palm.
“Sort of like American Indians?” she asked. “You don’t want your spirit captured in photos?”
Sol shook his head. “I don’t know anything about American Indians. I can’t speak for them. We’re Amish, and I ask you to respect—”
“Sure thing. Watch this,” the teenager interrupted. “I’ll erase the picture as quick as a bunny. It’s easy with a digital camera.” She held out the contraption while pushing a series of buttons as though he would be fascinated with the process.
“Because you’re their pastor, maybe you can help us out,” said the dad. “We would love a tour of the farmhouse, and these two kids act as though they don’t speak English.”
“That’s because they don’t, not until they start school.” In Deutsch, Sol told the sisters to stop taking candy from strangers and go inside the house. Off they ran, holding hands.
“Well, I’ll be. That explains it.” The man acted as though he’d solved a mystery.
Solomon’s patience was waning. “It doesn’t explain what you’re doing here or why the bus stopped in the first place.” He wiped his brow with a handkerchief as sweat dampened his hat band.
“Oh, of course. Brown eggs and goat’s milk cheese. We spotted the sign and asked the driver to stop. Our wives are up at the house right now buying dairy products. My daughter wanted a tour of the place. She’s writing a term paper on divergent religious sects.” He pulled a wallet from his back pocket, smiling at the girl with pride. “We’re prepared to pay whatever you think is fair. How does ten dollars a head sound?” He began extracting money.
Sol exhaled his breath in a whoosh. “I will try to clarify the situation. You may not take a tour at any price. This isn’t a tourist farm. You may not snap any more photographs of anything. And for the record, we don’t consider ourselves ‘divergent.’ Good day to you.”
