Love Comes to Paradise

by Mary Ellis

  Nora dried her hands on a checkered towel. “It’s not nice at all. I’m scared witless I’ll pick the wrong one and ruin my entire life. Or worse, I’ll dawdle and procrastinate and they’ll both lose interest. I’ve never been good at making decisions.” She released a weary sigh.

  Emily hooted much too loudly, another characteristic she shared with Sally. “Then don’t choose. Invite Lewis to visit and court both of them. Let God sort out the matter for you. Maybe it will be neither and the love of your life will arrive on the next bus from Columbia.”

  Nora laughed in spite of herself. “Do you really think God cares about whom Nora King courts?”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “I know He does. If He cares about the smallest sparrow, He cares about whom you will someday marry.”

  She reflected on this for a long moment. “Do you need my help with supper?”

  “I told you before, no. Go write your letter, Nora. Let the chips fall where they may.”

  “What chips?” she asked heading toward the stairs.

  “I have no idea, but I heard an Englischer use the expression in my shop and I liked it.”

  Nora smiled all the way to her room. Emily had the best attitude of any woman in the world. She would do well to emulate her. Sitting at her desk, she drew a sheet of stationery from the drawer along with her favorite pen and began a long overdue letter. Even if she never saw the man again, she shouldn’t neglect answering his letters.

  Dear Lewis,

  I’m happy about your sisters’ news but sorry to hear about the bishop’s ankle and Thomas’s increased workload. As for me, I love living with Sally’s sister and her husband. I have my own room and few chores because the Gingerichs do not farm. Emily hired me in her bakery three days a week. I’ve learned to make a decent pie crust and respectable cookies. And I enjoy waiting on customers and seeing their faces as they buy sweet treats.

  But I’m sure what you’re interested in is your offer. I have talked with my hostess, and she insisted you stay here should you visit. They have several spare rooms. I would like to see you, Lewis, but I make no promises. I am courting Elam Detweiler, but we’ve reached no understanding of any kind. If these terms are acceptable, you can take the train to St. Louis and then a bus to Columbia. We can arrange a hired van to bring you the rest of the way. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed with a vacation in Paradise. This is a lovely part of the state of Missouri.

  Truly yours,

  Nora King

  She folded the paper, jammed it into an envelope, and scribbled down his address before she lost her nerve.

  Won’t be disappointed with a vacation in Paradise…

  What was the matter with her? The area mainly had farms and more farms. The shops and cafés were little different than those back in Harmony.

  If these terms are acceptable…

  She sounded like an English lawyer, not an Amish girl writing to a former beau. Nora attached a stamp and placed it by her purse to mail tomorrow, hoping that she would soon find the mind she apparently had lost.

  SEVEN

  And there may I, though vile as he

  Emily fried the bacon until crisp but not burned. She melted cheddar cheese over the mushroom-and-ham omelet just the way Jonas liked it. While Nora buttered a stack of toast and set jars of peach jam and apple butter on the table, Emily carried the skillet to the center of the table.

  Jonas entered the kitchen while still fastening his shirt. “Goodness, fraa, that’s a lot of food for a workday.” He settled into his usual chair.

  “The lumberyard doesn’t open until ten o’clock. You have time to eat a hearty breakfast before you leave.” Emily filled three mugs with coffee.

  “Are you trying to butter me up or fatten me up with your good cooking?” He lifted his plate to be filled.

  She cut a large wedge of eggs and slid it onto his plate. “The former, I suppose. I’ll be gone for most of the day in Columbia. Some folks arranged a hired van for today, and there is room enough for me.”

  “On a Monday—the washday?” He sounded aghast. “How could I permit such divergence from Amish tradition?” He quickly consumed two strips of bacon while his dimples grew ever more apparent.

  “I must be a bane to your existence as deacon,” said Emily. “But Nora has volunteered to do the laundry while I’m gone, so any passersby will see shirts and sheets on the line as usual. Our reputation in the district should remain wherever it stood before.” Emily made an egg sandwich using two slices of toast. “Are you sure you don’t want to visit Columbia with me?” she asked Nora. “You’ve seen little other than this house and the bakery since you arrived.”

  Nora sipped coffee but mostly pushed her breakfast around with her fork. “I’ll go the next time Violet has a doctor’s appointment. That will be soon enough.” She ate a tiny bite of eggs.

  “Where are you headed in Columbia?” asked Jonas. He followed Emily’s example and built an omelet sandwich. “You’re not going to that giant mall to have your toenails painted blue, are you?”

  “I certainly hadn’t planned on blue.” Emily winked at her ehemann. “My library books are overdue. I want to return them before I owe a fortune in fines. And I love the library’s reading room. They have local histories and newspapers from everywhere that can’t be checked out. You must look at them there.” She finished her sandwich with two more bites, drained her coffee cup, and filled their travel mugs from the pot.

  Jonas rose to his feet too. “Want me to drop you off somewhere?” He set down his half-eaten sandwich long enough to shrug on his coat.

  “Nein. The van will pick me up at the end of our driveway in…” She consulted the wall clock, “about five minutes.”

  “I’ll see you when you get home, then. Enjoy your day in the city, but remember I’ll be inspecting those toenails before bedtime.” Jonas buzzed a kiss across her kapp.

  While Nora giggled, Emily blushed to the roots of her hair. “Danki, Nora, for doing the wash,” she called, following Jonas out the door. “Maybe I’ll check out one of those happy-ending romances for you. After all, they are fiction.”

  Within ten minutes, Emily was riding with six chatty Amish women to the capital of Missouri. And within the hour she sat at a polished oak table in the quiet solitude of the library—her favorite place in the English world. How she loved to read—novels, magazines, national newspapers, books filled with inspirational devotions, even self-help books of every ilk. Somebody had written a guide to help people with every facet of life, from learning how to knit, paint watercolor landscapes, or grow heirloom perennials to dealing with disease, rebellious teenagers, or potty-training. Most of the books had little usefulness in Plain lifestyles, but last year Emily had read How to Run a Small Business to her great benefit. Most of all, she loved to read biographies of famous people, such as Jesse James and Abraham Lincoln, or stories of the founding and settling of America, especially the westward expansion of pioneers into Missouri. Their daily struggles for survival paralleled the Amish quest for a simple existence.

  After paying her fines, Emily browsed the stacks, fingering the bindings as though petting a favorite animal.

  “Here you are, Mrs. Gingerich,” said the librarian, appearing around a corner. “I found some books I think you’ll like and marked a few pages with interesting articles.” She handed Emily two thin volumes. “They are both regional histories from the reference department, so I’m afraid they can’t be checked out.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take a look right now. I have a few hours before the van comes back for me.” Emily accepted the books with a gracious smile.

  “With all of the movie theaters and lovely parks in Columbia, I’m thrilled you choose to spend your time in town here.” The young librarian smiled warmly before going back to her computer monitor.

  After settling down at a table, Emily opened the first book, A Regional Account of Audrain County. Because she was a fast reader and the book was full of photographs, it wasn’
t long before she reached the first page marked by the librarian. With growing fascination, Emily read about an extinct settlement of Old Order near Centralia.

  In 1898, a group of Amish had come from Iowa looking for cheaper farmland. They were more liberal than their conservative brethren back home and thus devised a new Ordnung in their new state. Soon the residents were beset with extremes in weather lasting for years, alternating between unrelenting drought followed by periods of excessively wet conditions with continual flooding. For nineteen years the community tried unsuccessfully to survive in a hostile land. Finally, the last two families gave up in 1917 and moved elsewhere. For the next thirty-six years, Missouri had no Amish population until a few families moved from Iowa, determined to try again.

  Emily sat transfixed by what she’d read. Bad weather was one thing. Every farmer in every state suffered crop losses due to weather from time to time. But nothing but one disaster after another for almost twenty years? That was something altogether different. God didn’t seem to want the Iowa Amish moving to Audrain County a century ago and changing their rules. They had suffered year after year until they moved back or died off.

  She stuck in her bookmark and thought of Solomon’s sermon about Noah’s neighbors. Because of their wickedness, God had unleashed a giant flood of water and wiped them out. He may have established a covenant with Noah’s descendants to not destroy the whole earth again, but apparently that didn’t include flooding in Centralia, alternating with ground-parching months of no rain whatsoever. Emily picked up the book and finished it within an hour and a half. After checking the wall clock, she wrote down page numbers of articles in the second book for her next visit to the library.

  “Thank you,” she said, returning the histories to the librarian. “Those gave me something to think about.”

  “At least we know recent natural disasters haven’t been something new to central Missouri.” The librarian peered over her glasses. “Bad things have been happening here for a hundred years.”

  Emily smiled, even though it took some effort. The news was grim. She couldn’t wait to tell Jonas what she’d read. Would he pass along the story to the ministers and the bishop? Did Solomon Trask already know about the Centralia Old Order settlement? Is that why he felt the district needed to shape up? Maybe he had already heard about a community who left their conservative roots behind and started over with more liberal ways.

  Across the street in the coffee shop, Emily joined the Amish ladies chatting and grabbing a bite to eat before the van ride back to Paradise. Everyone shared tales of medical examinations, chiropractic adjustments, or shopping trips with carefree animation. Emily sipped her latte in silence. She wanted to mull over the newfound information before discussing it with fellow district members. It was easy to dismiss history as irrelevant to their lives today, but those who couldn’t learn from the past were doomed to make the same mistakes over and over.

  Apparently, every one of Noah’s warnings had fallen on deaf ears as well.

  Jonas finished his last dregs of coffee as his buggy rolled into the parking lot of Gingerich Lumber. Several men working the yard lifted gloved hands in greeting as they unloaded a tractor trailer of pressure-treated wood. The sun was shining, a cool breeze blew from the west, and overnight showers were predicted to help gardens and farm fields. It will be a good day.

  Unfortunately, his initial intuition proved false.

  His English foreman, Ken Stewart, cornered him the moment Jonas entered the office. “I had to take men from the sawmill to fill the morning orders, boss. Deliveries needed to be made and the loads weren’t ready.”

  Jonas scratched his nose. “I know the regular crew doesn’t start until nine on Mondays, but Elam Detweiler was supposed to be here by six to pull orders.”

  “‘Supposed to be’ being the key words.” Ken rolled his eyes. “That guy has been late to work more often than not. I’ve spoken to him three times already and told him that if there was one more occurrence I would take up the matter with you.”

  “He’s been late frequently?” Jonas, never a man to react hastily, slowly processed the information.

  Ken nodded. “Every time he’s scheduled to start before the rest of the crew. He says he arrives on time, but I can tell by what he has done it’s not the case.”

  “He lies to you?” asked Jonas, not hiding his surprise. It was rare for an Amish man to bear false witness. Most took the Ninth Commandment seriously, even those who hadn’t joined the church yet.

  “I believe he does.” Ken locked eyes with Jonas, shifting his substantial weight from one foot to the other. “He can’t seem to adjust to the idea of a time clock, either.”

  “I’ll take care of this. Thanks for moving men from the mill to pull orders.” Jonas picked up the ledger of deliveries for the day and the list of scheduled pick-ups. Then he went in search of his tardy employee. He found Elam in the outdoor racks of two-by-fours. He was loading an order onto a wheeled cart.

  “Elam, we need to talk.” Jonas matched his tone of voice to his current mood.

  The younger man peered up from under the bill of a Cardinals cap, apparently fond of hats that advertised St. Louis baseball. “What’s up?” he asked, lifting another stack of lumber.

  “Put down those boards and come here.” Jonas loathed speaking to a person without their full attention.

  Elam brushed off the palms of his leather gloves and approached with his usual swagger. Somewhere he had acquired the walk of a rodeo rider. “Here I am.”

  “A Sturgeon carpenter is coming for that order in a few minutes.” Jonas hooked his thumb toward the wheeled cart.

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m hurrying.” He slouched against an upright post.

  “All the more reason you should have arrived to work on time.” Jonas didn’t blink as he met the other man’s eye.

  Neither did Elam. “Who says I didn’t?”

  “My foreman told me you didn’t. It’s his job to keep track of those things. He also said this wasn’t your first time late. You’ve had several warnings.”

  Elam broke the stare down and glanced up into the racks. “I’ve been having engine trouble. My car keeps stalling and then doesn’t want to restart for a while. One guy said I’m flooding the engine.” He laughed as though this were humorous. “I really don’t know how I manage that.”

  “I can’t help you there since I know nothing about cars. But I need you here on time to fill orders.”

  Elam crossed his tanned arms while muscles bulged at the bands of his T-shirt. “Everybody else arrives right before the yard opens. Only the tow motor operator and I have to be here so early.”

  “When I hired you, the only position available required an early starting time. You said it would be no problem, yet apparently it has been a problem on a regular basis.”

  Elam’s brown eyes darkened. “I didn’t anticipate this car giving me so many headaches.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, but I need someone in the first slot who can be counted on. If another position opens I’ll move you into it, but in the meantime I expect you here by six every day. Or you could start looking for another job.”

  Elam’s gaze narrowed like a hawk focusing on dinner. “I would have thought family members could be cut some slack.”

  “According to Ken you’ve been cut plenty of slack. Men who work construction projects need materials delivered at the start of the workday. Whether or not you’re family, I have a business to run.” Jonas stomped off before Elam annoyed him with any more rationalizations. Men like him were all the same—blaming others for their shortcomings, always making excuses to mask their irresponsibility. Sally’s brother-in-law or not, Elam Detweiler was walking on thin ice.

  When Jonas arrived home, he was eager to see this wife, enjoy a good meal, put up his feet, and relax. Only one of his three wishes would be granted that night. He’d forgotten about Emily’s trip to Columbia for the day, so she wasn’t yet home when Nora served supper.
Jonas knew he couldn’t relax until the van dropped her off hours later. There were too many accidents on Route 63 for him not to worry. Although Nora served a fine meat loaf, buttered yellow beans, and mashed potatoes, his houseguest said barely six words during the entire meal. Her attempt at conversation consisted of “Do you want catsup or gravy on your meat?” He’d never met a woman so quiet.

  At last, Emily bounded into the kitchen as he was nursing his third cup of tea. “Ach, I’m glad you’re still up.” She slung a bag of library books onto the kitchen counter.

  “You know I can’t sleep until you’re home. How did you fare with the fines? Must we take out a mortgage against the farm?”

  “I paid them two dollars and ten cents. Perhaps they’ll name a new wing after me someday.” Emily turned on the burner under the kettle.

  He clucked his tongue. “Such vanity. The bishop and Minister Sol would never permit the Emily Gingerich Auditorium. You must remain a secret benefactor.”

  “Speaking about Sol, I thought about him while reading the history of Audrain County.” Her honey brown eyes sparkled with energy, despite the hour. “I learned about an Old Order community near Centralia that went extinct—that’s the word the book used. Amish folks moved here a hundred years ago and tried to farm, but they suffered crop failures year after year. Either it was too wet or too dry, to the extreme. The last families gave up in 1917 and abandoned their land.” When the teakettle whistle blew, she poured hot water into a mug and dunked a teabag vigorously.

  “Did the others die? Is that why the book called them extinct?”

  She reflected a moment. “Maybe some died, but I think the rest just gave up.”

  Jonas drained the last of his beverage. He would float to bed on the liquids he’d consumed. “Why did this remind you of Solomon? I don’t follow.”

  Emily brought her tea to the table and sat down next to her husband. “These Old Order people wanted to be more liberal than the district they left behind in Iowa. They came to create a new Ordnung in Missouri.” She paused, waiting for him to reach some implication.