Love Comes to Paradise

by Mary Ellis

  Both men ran in opposite directions. Jonas squeezed by men surging indoors from the sawmill, loading docks, and plant nursery.

  “It’s coming, boss!” shouted one.

  “I spotted it myself, headed right for us,” said another. Neither man waited for a response as they ducked down between the wall and the solid oak sales counter.

  Jonas held open the door until the last employee filed past before he bolted into the parking lot. Sure enough, a young woman in white capri pants and a pink top sat in her small car as though paralyzed. He ran to the vehicle just as hail began to pelt his head and back. The frozen ice crystals hurt far more than the occasional snowball fights he’d enjoyed during childhood. Jonas reached the driver’s side as paper foam cups and dead geraniums eddied and swirled around his feet. Apparently, the wind had overturned the trash dumpster.

  “Ma’am, you must get out of the car and come with me.” Jonas glanced into the backseat. Wearing an identical outfit, a little girl stared up at him, wide-eyed and terrified. She’d been strapped in snuggly with the seat belt.

  The woman shook her head. “I need to get home. My husband will be worried about us.” Her hand was on the keys in the ignition, but the car wasn’t running.

  “And you will leave the moment the storm passes, but for now it’s safer for your daughter inside the showroom.”

  It took a moment for logic and practicality to sink in. Then nodding agreement, she jumped out. Jonas unstrapped the child and lifted her into his arms. The three ran toward the back of the showroom as the wind increased in intensity.

  Ken opened the door against the gale as they approached. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He tried to pull the door closed, to no avail.

  Crossing the littered floor, Jonas heard the infamous roar and the sound of breaking glass just as he shoved the woman and child inside his office. Ken dropped to the floor and braced the metal office door with his back. Covering his head with his arms, Jonas began to pray. He prayed that they all might survive, but if this be his time to die, he asked for forgiveness for his transgressions.

  He wasn’t the only one praying in Gingerich’s that afternoon.

  Within minutes the storm and tornado were over. The instant the cacophony of destruction ceased, Jonas, Ken, and Robert checked their employees and customers. Everyone survived, and very few suffered injuries—mostly minor cuts from flying scrap metal.

  A little while later the woman and daughter in pink emerged from the lunch room. The little girl was sobbing, but the mother smiled. The Englischer threw her arms around Jonas’s neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Mr. Gingerich. You saved our lives.”

  He patted her back as a blush crept up his neck. “I didn’t do much. Please wait here while I check the parking lot, your car, and the road.”

  Without argument, she sat down in a clear spot on the floor and pulled her daughter onto her lap. Jonas stepped over broken bird-feeders to walk outside into a sea of destruction. The metal outdoor racks, which had held every dimension of lumber, were twisted and collapsed. The tornado splintered the pressure-treated wood as though it were kindling, carrying much of it away to parts unknown. The plants, shrubs, and ornamental trees were gone, while his diesel-powered sawmill lay in a heap. Most of the workers’ cars were crumpled and destroyed, including the sporty compact owned by the lady in pink. The four-wheel-drive trucks and most of the Amish buggies that had been parked in the back grassy area remained unscathed, along with the nervous horses huddled at the far end of the paddock fence. The funnel cloud had hit-skipped its way across the township.

  Ken joined Jonas in the yard, throwing pieces of broken lumber out of his way. “My truck is fine,” he said, scratching his head. “Why don’t I start ferrying people home? I can drive through ditches or fields if need be, but I’d better first clear a path to the road. These folks are anxious to check on their families. I’ll take the lady and little girl home first.”

  “Good idea. I’ll give you a hand.” Jonas began throwing broken lumber into piles on the side. For the next two hours, he remained until every customer and employee were gone. Because the roads would most likely be impassable for buggies, the Amish men left them in the field and either rode or led their horse home. It would be a long walk, but at least they were alive.

  For the first time, Jonas appreciated that his nephew had saddle-broke the Standardbred gelding. The horse barely tossed his mane when Jonas pulled himself astride bareback. He, too, had a long journey to reach Township Route 116. He rode past the former location of Emily’s bakery. Little remained except for a debris-strewn parking lot and the huge, black cast-iron cook stove. The monstrosity had been too heavy for the wind to lift. Jonas grinned for the first time since the storm. Emily would be pleased.

  But his greatest joy awaited him at home. A few broken windows, some missing roof shingles, broken trees everywhere, and a garden that wouldn’t supply much for this year’s canning season, but his home still stood. “Danki, Gott!” he shouted when Emily emerged from the outside entrance to their cellar.

  “Hush now, Jonas,” she called. “You know Plain folks aren’t supposed to yell.” She ran toward him full speed, leaping over branches along the way.

  “Praise the Lord!” he shouted. “I’ll speak English. Then He won’t know we’re Amish.” Jonas wrapped his arms around his wife and hugged. They fell to the ground laughing and crying and uttering words of gratitude for God’s mercy on the Gingerich family that day.

  Solomon and Rosanna remained in their root cellar long after the storm subsided, praying fervently. Only when their son threw back the steel outside entrance door, flooding the stairwell with sunshine, did they break their meditations. Both blinked several times as though surprised to discover it was still daylight outdoors.

  “Mamm, daed, are you all right?” Irvin stomped down the steps in this heavy work boots. “We were so worried about you.”

  Sol struggled up, pulling Rosanna along with him. “We’re fine. How are Susanna and your kinner?”

  “Gut, gut. They were already in the basement when I arrived home.”

  “Mark, Ann, their new boppli? Kathryn and John?” Sol squinted as though trapped in darkness for hours.

  “All fine. I checked at everyone’s house. No injuries.”

  “And Violet. Is she safe with you?” asked Rosanna, bracing against the upright post. Sol slipped an arm around her for support.

  Irvin gazed at his mother in confusion. “No, I haven’t seen her all day. I thought I would find her down here with you.”

  Rosanna began to tremble uncontrollably. She slumped against Sol and wailed, “My helpless baby, out in an open buggy during a tornado.”

  Irvin lifted his mother into his arms and carried her upstairs to the sofa in the living room. “Violet went for a buggy ride alone?” he asked.

  “Nein, with Nora on a picnic. It was such…a…nice…day.” She spoke in broken staccato between hiccups.

  “With Nora?” Irvin repeated her answer as nervous people often did. “She wouldn’t be much stronger than our Violet.” He ran a hand through his dark hair.

  “Violet feared her friend might return to Maine because of the bad gossip, so she wanted to cheer her up.” Rosanna buried her face in her hands and cried.

  Irvin patted her shoulder tenderly. “Tornados hop, skip, and jump. They could be safe but unable to get home. Downed trees and power lines are everywhere, blocking the roads.”

  “This is God’s curse on our town, like your daed warned because our district was disobedient.” Rosanna’s words were muffled but clear.

  “If this be Gott’s wille, it’s due to my disobedience and not anybody else’s,” said Solomon. “My heart was full of fear and anger. I judged often and harshly.” He sank down next to his fraa on the couch and attempted to comfort her. But if Violet was lost to them, there would be no consolation for some time to come.

  “I’ll ride my son’s Morgan and try to find them,” said Irvin. �
��His horse is accustomed to the saddle.”

  Sol’s head snapped up. “Don’t jeopardize your own life. Those electric lines on the ground could still hold power.”

  Irvin met Sol’s eyes. “I’ll be careful. Please don’t blame yourself, daed. We have yet to witness all of Gott’s wille today.” Then he disappeared out the front door.

  After Irvin left, Rosanna retreated to their room to lie down while Solomon wandered the house taking assessment of the damage. The back porch hung at a precarious slant with one end post missing. It had neither a roof nor any of the furniture that had been there this morning. Windows on the western side of the house were broken or missing, but most of the others remained intact. The wind had blown rain and mud into the kitchen and mudroom from the gaping hole where the back door had been. At last, an appropriate name for the room, he thought wryly. But all things considered, the house, including his new metal roof of three years, had weathered the cyclone well.

  “Danki for Your mercy.” He uttered the words at first by rote and then with renewed conviction as he walked the farm that had been left to him by his father and his father before him. The chicken coup had been destroyed, yet Solomon counted all twenty-five of Rosanna’s laying hens, scratching around in the dirt. The litter of debris didn’t curtail their quest for corn. Most of his barn no longer had a roof, yet his milk cows, Emily’s buggy horse, and his plow Belgians were all still in their stalls, unharmed.

  Except for one gentle mare that had been hitched to Violet’s buggy. Standing in his backyard, Solomon bowed his head and wept. He surrendered to his grief and misery as he picked his way to the county road. Sol walked into the sunset, magnificent with vivid colors, stumbling over unseen obstacles, until he reached their nearest neighbor. Sol spotted good news at that farm too. Although the man’s crops were ruined, his house and barn remained intact. The Englischer stood on a stepladder nailing pieces of heavy plastic over gaping windows.

  “How did you make out, Mr. Trask?” hollered the neighbor.

  Sol glanced around ridiculously before answering. “My family is safe. House and livestock spared. Barn can be repaired.”

  “Glad to hear it!” The man shouted and waved his hat as his teenage son came around the corner carrying a sheet of plywood. A boy a bit younger than…

  Sol had said nothing of his beloved daughter, still missing, or her beloved friend. From every direction he heard sirens blaring and the hum of chainsaws. In dwindling daylight, help had arrived for the injured. And for others, work had begun to repair the damage. Given time, Paradise would one day return to normal. But would life ever be the same for the Trask family? Solomon walked in a daze until a massive sycamore blocked his path. The tree’s wilted foliage and twisted branches rendered the road impassable from this direction. He had no choice but to return to his wife and family.

  His daughter Kathryn and daughters-in-law had arrived in his absence. They surrounded Rosanna in the downstairs bedroom, murmuring soft words, while his grandchildren watched with apprehension. After seeing that his fraa was well tended, Sol retreated to the front porch, dragging a rocking chair out with him. He opened his Bible haphazardly and began to read the first passage he spotted in Proverbs: “The way of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, which shines ever brighter until the full light of day. But the way of the wicked is like total darkness. They have no idea what they are stumbling over.”

  I allowed the details of observance to distort the true meaning of Christianity.

  Sol prayed fervently that the innocent would be spared judgment. Eventually, he fell asleep with the Good Book still open in his lap. Later, a gentle shake of his shoulder jarred him awake. Sol opened his eyes to see the exhausted face of Irvin.

  “What is it, son?” he asked, straightening in the chair. “Did you find the girls?”

  The younger man squatted on his haunches near Sol’s feet. “Nein. I rode up and down the district, but it’s pitch dark out there. I didn’t see any buggies off the road or any sign of them. If we only knew which direction they had headed it might be easier, but maybe not even then. Most roads are blocked. Very likely they are trapped, unable to get back by any route. In some places the twister did much damage, while other areas are wholly untouched. There’s no rhyme or reason.”

  Solomon patted Irvin’s arm. “Go home to your family and eat supper. You must be starving. Nothing more can be done tonight. At dawn we shall start searching anew.”

  Irvin remained where he crouched, his face pinched with misery.

  “What is it?” he demanded. “Tell me, boy.”

  “When I passed your barn, I found Nell wandering around. She came home, alone.”

  “The mare is back?” he asked with disbelief.

  “Jah. She’s cut up and scratched, but she has no serious injuries. Mark is tending her cuts right now and trying to wash caked mud from her legs.”

  “That’s a good sign.” Sol stroked his beard and began to rock. “If the horse is alive, maybe Violet and Nora are too. Go now. I’ll sit up and wait for them.”

  Irvin looked bewildered, but soon he rose and staggered off the porch toward home.

  And Sol rocked…and waited…and prayed for mercy for an undeserving father.

  NINETEEN

  Then in a nobler, sweeter song

  For the second time that night, Sol awoke from a fitful sleep on the porch. But no family members shook his arm, demanding his attention. Instead, the red and blue flashing lights of the sheriff’s four-wheel-drive truck jarred him to consciousness. Stiff from arthritis and bad posture, Sol staggered down the steps to the front lawn. He had reached only the walkway when his daughter, his beloved Violet, climbed from the backseat of the vehicle.

  “Papa!” she hollered, in a voice guaranteed to wake any sleepers. “I’m home!”

  “You are indeed. Danki, Lord.” Solomon ran the best he could while Violet hobbled toward him.

  “Hold up there, Miss Trask. You’ve made it this far. Let’s not go breaking a leg now.” The sheriff steadied her progress with a strong, supportive arm.

  “Rosanna, it’s Violet,” Sol called over his shoulder. “Wake up.”

  “How can you tell it’s me? I’m covered in mud and guck from head to toe.” Violet punctuated her question with a loud hoot. “Nora says I smell bad too, but trust me, she is no field of lavender herself.”

  “I would know my girl anywhere. And we won’t worry how you smell right now.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Is she injured?” he asked the officer.

  “No, sir. The EMTs checked her out at the triage tent and said she’s fine. I found her and Miss King on the road, trying to walk home in the dark. With those leg braces they weren’t making much progress.”

  “Where are your crutches and wheelchair?”

  “Gone.” Violet lifted her finger skyward in a whirlpool motion. “But at least I’m upright and not crawling on all fours.” She hugged him tightly around the waist.

  “What about Nora? Where is she?” Sol swallowed a bad taste in his mouth for the hasty judgments he had levied against the young woman.

  The sheriff pursed his lips, considering. “Are you some kind of authority among the Amish?”

  “Jah. I’m one of the district’s ministers.”

  “Miss King suffered a gash on her head, but medics think it’s a superficial scalp laceration. They stitched her up and gave her a tetanus shot, but she’ll require a regimen of antibiotics and need to be watched for signs of concussion.”

  “They didn’t take her to the hospital in Columbia?”

  “No, she refused to be transported. And because she’s twenty-one that’s her prerogative. One of my deputies drove her back to the people she’s staying with.” The sheriff consulted a spiral notebook. “The Gingerichs.”

  “He’s our district deacon. I’m glad to hear she’s well.” He tightened his hold on his daughter.

  “What did you expect, Papa? Nora and I are cut from rugged Amish stock.”r />
  The English lawman gazed at the small muddy woman, barely able to stand and stifled a laugh. “Well, I suppose you would have made it home eventually. By August, perhaps. I’ll give you that much.” He tucked the tablet back into his pocket. “I’ll leave her in your care, Mr. Trask, and be off. There are many damaged houses yet to check for injuries.” He tipped his hat and wasted no time returning to his idling truck.

  “Thank you, Sheriff, for bringing her home. I am in your debt.” Solomon waved his hat.

  “Think nothing of it,” he called. Then the flashing blue and red lights sped down the driveway and disappeared into darkness around the corner.

  “God saved us,” whispered Violet. She lifted her face to meet his gaze. “The tornado was headed straight for us, but at the last second it switched directions.”

  “Let’s get you inside and into the shower. Then you’ll have plenty of time to tell your story.” Supporting Violet’s weight, Sol moved them toward the house.

  “Nora refused to run for her life even though I told her to. It was hopeless, in my opinion. Then she threw herself on top of me at the last minute.” In obvious pain and fatigued beyond measure, Violet dragged one foot in front of the other.

  Tears filled the minister’s eyes that a woman he wished to shun would risk her life for his daughter. “Your mamm will want to hear the details too.”

  Rosanna had heard his shout and burst from the house in her robe and nightgown, with her hair down her back in a long braid. “Violet, you’re alive! My little girl is safe.” Rosanna almost knocked the two of them over. She embraced Violet and pressed her head to her shoulder. Violet’s muddy hair immediately stained Rosanna’s white gown.