by Mary Ellis
“What place?” Emily gazed in the direction Jonas pointed. She saw an overgrown cut through the woods with two wagon tracks of hard-packed dirt down the middle. “That’s probably just a path to a back pasture or woodlot. I doubt anybody lives there.”
“I’d heard a family of Swartzentruber Amish moved down here. You know they seldom leave the farm except to attend preaching services. That could be why the lane has overgrown. Look, Emily!” Jonas pointed to a four-by-four post snapped off inches from the ground. “That probably held their mailbox, which now could be somewhere in the next county. Without a mailbox, rescuers wouldn’t know to check down that drive.”
Emily met Jonas’s eye while a sensation of dread spiked up her spine. “We’d better take a look.”
“Give me your hand and stay on the path. There could be snakes.” Together they ran until breathless before slowing their pace to a fast walk. Poison ivy vines and wild sumac overhung the two-mile lane on both sides. The horse snorted and balked, not enjoying stepping over so many broken tree limbs.
“Let’s rest a moment,” gasped Emily. She clutched her chest.
Jonas dug out a water bottle for each of them and they drank heartily. The brief respite couldn’t prepare them for what was to come. Around the next bend lay the destroyed remains of a frame house. At least they assumed it had been a house, judging by the size and household objects scattered among the debris. A small pole barn forty yards to the rear had suffered damage but remained upright. The outdoor outhouse and separate washhouse confirmed Jonas’s suspicion that the residents were members of the most conservative Amish sect. Several hens and one irate rooster pecking through the grass indicated the former existence of a chicken coup.
“Oh, mercy,” murmured Emily, surveying the scene. No wall, not one side of the former home remained standing. Only a pile of wood and shattered glass with pieces of cloth marked the spot where a house had been.
Jonas began methodically picking through the rubble. “Be careful where you step, fraa. Who knows what lies beneath.” He removed lumber one piece at a time and placed it into a new pile.
Following his example, she did the same, selecting smaller, lighter pieces. “Do you think there’s a cellar under this?” she asked after an hour of work. “Perhaps folks are still trapped below.”
“Nein, it doesn’t appear that way. It looks as though they built the house on a flat, high spot of land.” Jonas started working faster, pulling and tossing boards with both hands, as though he sensed urgency. Haste, however, proved unnecessary when he uncovered two dead bodies—first a man and then a woman in the rubble.
Emily cried when she saw how young the couple had been. “Oh, Jonas,” she moaned, holding the fraa’s cold hand in her own. “May God have mercy on their souls.” Tears streamed down her face.
“Go wait in the shade under the trees, Em. Stay with the horse.” Jonas spoke softly. “I’ll remove the rest of the debris and find enough quilt scraps to cover them. The authorities will want to remove the bodies.”
For another minute, Emily crouched beside the young woman and sobbed, still gripping her hand. Then she rose to her feet and staggered away, her face awash with misery. But she didn’t hide in the shade until Jonas finished his gruesome task. Instead she circled around to the other side and began removing materials from the back end. “Who’s to say they didn’t already have kinner?” she hollered. “Swartzentruber folks marry young.” Emily pulled off lumber and shingles with both fists.
“Just be careful. You could easily break an ankle or cut yourself on glass.”
She tossed broken dishes and crockery over her shoulder in a defiant act of frustration until she focused on something odd. She stared, forcing her mind to identify the shape, despite overwhelming fatigue. “Jonas, I think there’s an upside down bathtub over here—a big cast-iron tub, not one of those copper kettles. I thought Swartzentrubers usually bathed in their washhouse where they can heat enough hot water. Why would a tub be inside the kitchen, especially in summer? It doesn’t look like it blew here. The roof collapsed on top of it.”
Jonas cocked his head, and then he dropped the broken headboard he carried. “There’s only one reason I can imagine. Stay where you are. Don’t move.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded. “It looks like one end had been raised up with a brick.” Realization dawned. “Oh, Jonas, could it be possible?” Emily could barely draw a breath.
Jonas waited to answer until by her side and they had removed the rest of the trash. “The couple may have placed this tub over a child for protection, not having a basement, and braced up one end for air.” He met her eye. “On the count of three, we’ll lift up. One…two…”
Upon “three” they raised the cast-iron tub and pushed it back. Underneath sat a small boy, dirty and terrified, gazing at them with round brown eyes. But the child wasn’t alone in the cave created by his parents in the final minutes of their lives. In his arms the boy clutched a blanket-wrapped bundle, silent but moving.
“A baby?” asked Jonas.
“May I see your brother or sister?” asked Emily in Deutsch. The child thought for a moment and then handed over his bundle. As soon as Emily peeled back the soggy wrapper, an infant began to wail.
A boppli…and still alive.
TWENTY
I’ll sing thy power to save
Six weeks later
Let us know where you want us, Minister Trask,” said a voice behind him. “We’re here to help.”
Solomon turned around to greet yet another English family that showed up to raise the new barn at the Morganstein farm. His jaw dropped nearly to his chest. It was the same tourists he’d met before here at the leather shop and bakery. He had chastised the woman for taking photographs of Amish children and the daughter for being insufficiently attired. Sol blinked and stared before recovering his composure.
“How did you know to come? We put up no announcement in town or in local papers.”
“Word gets around,” said the wife. “Our pastor at First Baptist told the congregation about it.” No camera hung from her neck today. “Just point us in the right direction.” She shifted a picnic hamper from one hand to the other.
“Thank you for coming. Women are meeting in the house and setting food that doesn’t need to stay cold on the back porch.” Sol tipped his hat. “They’ll be glad for an extra pair of hands.”
“What about me, sir?” The teenage girl timidly peered up from beneath thick bangs. Today she wore very little makeup and a flannel shirt, buttoned to the throat and tucked into her baggy blue jeans.
“Young people are behind the barn. Boys are in charge of getting building materials where they need to be around the construction site, while the girls will see that everyone has enough to eat and drink. Ask for my daughter Violet. She’ll put you right to work. She’ll be the bossy one, using only one crutch for balance instead of her new wheelchair.” Solomon smiled as the girl scampered in the direction he indicated.
The minister turned back to the father. “I appreciate you coming and bringing your family, especially since we got off on the wrong foot.” He extended his hand.
“Forget about it. This is a small town. We’re all here for each other.” He pumped Sol’s hand vigorously. “I brought my tool belt and a full supply of energy.” The Englischer grinned as though this were an outing instead of a long day of hard labor.
“You’ll find Levi Morganstein there.” Sol pointed to the cluster of men near the barn’s foundation. “He’ll direct the work on today’s barn raising. And thanks again.”
“See you later. Save me a seat for lunch. My wife made great barbequed beef.” With a wave the man strode off, leaving Sol with watery eyes and a renewed spirit in humankind.
“So many folks have turned out today that Levi will have more than enough hands to raise the entire frame, plus roof the structure by nightfall. God is great,” he murmured. He had spared many, many lives that fearsome day when a category 3 tornad
o cut a path of destruction for miles. All told, only four lives had been lost—two Englischers, who had tried to outrun the tornado in their vehicle, and two Plain—the Swartzentruber couple who moved to Paradise a year ago. Both of their children survived and were thriving at the Gingerichs’ until relatives traveled from Iowa to claim them.
Sol bowed his head, humbled by the grace of God. Humbled and convicted to mend bad habits that might still linger. He would serve his district and community for the rest of his life a grateful man.
“Am I interrupting?”
Solomon lifted his head to find Jonas at his elbow. “Nein. Just giving thanks for the good turnout along with the fine weather.”
The deacon gazed around the Morganstein yard. “There are so many folks here we’ll be getting in each other’s way. I’m going to direct additional cars and buggies to park on the other side of the bakery. There’s no more room anywhere near the house.” Jonas slapped Sol on the back.
“Another moment, please, before you go.” Sol grasped the deacon’s arm. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved toward you, Jonas. I’ve already spoken to Nora, but I wanted to apologize to you and Emily too.”
The younger man shook his head. “You were doing what you thought best for the district. Neither of us knew what was coming or how things would turn out. There are no hard feelings.” He gazed up at a cloudless sky. “It could have been so much worse.”
Sol nodded, knowing Jonas didn’t refer to today’s weather for the reconstruction. “A miracle, regarding those kinner—still alive after their whole house crumbled around them. You and Emily saved their lives.”
“Emily hasn’t left their sides since that day. She rode in the ambulance, stayed at the hospital for two days of observation, and then completed a stack of paperwork for them to be released into our custody. Children’s Services couldn’t believe the little boy didn’t know a word of English. I figured that’s why they rushed through our application.”
“Best to keep them in a Plain household. They’ve been traumatized enough after losing their parents.”
Jonas moved closer. “Have you heard anything from the Iowa kin? As much as she wants to do what’s best for the little ones, it will kill Emily to give them back. We’ve had them long enough to grow fond of them.” His voice faltered, indicating his wife wasn’t the only one who had grown attached.
Four weeks ago Sol had traveled with a sheriff’s deputy and the caseworker to meet the children’s Iowa relatives. The Englischers had asked the minister to accompany them because they feared the Swartzentruber adults also wouldn’t speak English. The delegation from Paradise discovered that the children’s kinfolk all had large families of their own. The sheriff and caseworker were told that the young couple had inherited the property and thought they would give Missouri a try.
Sol stroked his beard. “I haven’t heard anything yet, Jonas. All I know is that the social worker planned to meet with them again before issuing her recommendation to the court. A few days ago she asked me for a statement regarding your suitability for parenthood, and I said no couple would be better than you and Emily.”
Jonas sighed. “Danki, Sol. We’ll be patient and see what God has planned.”
Over the deacon’s shoulder, Solomon watched a police vehicle pull up the driveway. “You might not have to wait very long. Why don’t you see what the sheriff wants? It can’t be about us making too much noise. The entire neighborhood is here.”
Jonas turned and moved in the direction of the truck, walking as fast as possible without sprinting like a racehorse.
“If it be Your will,” murmured Solomon. Then he headed toward the barn to make himself useful.
A dozen reasons could have brought the officer to the Morganstein farm—the most obvious being he was curious about a barn raising. Jonas reached the truck just as the tall man unfolded himself from the driver’s side. With a jolt, Jonas recognized the young English social worker in the passenger seat. She’d come to their farm several times to check on Micah and little Laura.
“I thought I might find you here, Mr. Gingerich,” said the sheriff, taking off his huge hat. “Looks like everyone in the county showed up.”
“Jonas, please. Good to see you, Sheriff Baker, and you, Miss O’Brien.” He removed his straw hat.
“You have your work cut out for you today. Judging by the foundation, that’s one huge barn to rebuild by sundown.” He scratched the back of his head.
“If we don’t finish, you know what they say. There’s always tomorrow.” Jonas peered through the windshield at the caseworker. She seemed surprised by the hubbub and amount of junk still remaining in the yard from the tornado. “Would either of you like something to eat or drink? The women are at the house on one of the porches, Miss O’Brien.”
“Why don’t you head on up, Terri,” suggested the sheriff. “You could observe how Micah has adjusted to the Old Order children of this district. It can count for one of your unannounced visits.”
“Good idea. I have a visitation form ready to go.” Terri clutched her clipboard to her chest, swung her soft-sided briefcase over one shoulder, and marched toward the house. “I’ll see you both later.”
The sheriff watched her until she was out of earshot. “I wanted to speak to you privately, Jonas.”
The deacon’s empty stomach turned over.
“Miss O’Brien has visited the Iowa relations twice more since I went with Minister Trask. To tell the truth, she doesn’t seem particularly fond of their conservative sect. She’s a city gal. Outhouses and heating water atop wood-burning stoves to take a bath or wash your clothes is too Little House on the Prairie for her tastes. She prefers the propane washers, refrigerators, and hot water tanks used by Old Order Amish.” He kept his voice soft. “Indoor plumbing is also a big plus for her. I’m not sure what she did when she visited them. Probably didn’t drink too much coffee or bottled water.” He chuckled good-naturedly.
But Jonas was too nervous to laugh. He was almost too nervous to breathe. “What are you saying, Sheriff?”
“I don’t want to raise your hopes before the ink dries on the paperwork, but Miss O’Brien will most likely advise the court to place the children permanently in your home. Unless the relatives have a change of heart and demand Micah and Laura be returned to Iowa, you and Emily will be named their guardians—foster parents for now. In a year you can petition the court to legally adopt them.” The large man set his wide-brimmed hat back on his head. “The Iowa kin liked the idea of a childless couple raising their niece and nephew. Like I said, they have a dozen children between them. As long as the kids stay Amish, the fact you’re Old Order doesn’t seem to be an issue. They would want to visit them, of course, from time to time, and they hope you’ll travel to Iowa also.”
“Of course we will.” Jonas exhaled air he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Can I tell Emily?”
“Sure you can, if Miss O’Brien hasn’t already spilled the beans.”
On shaky legs, Jonas walked toward the Morganstein house alongside the sheriff. He ignored the beehive of activity on the new barn where young people scurried to-and-fro, gabbing as much as working as young people loved to do. He stared straight ahead, because somewhere among the throng awaited his wife and new son and daughter. Just as they reached the porch steps, Jonas spotted Emily and the social worker on lawn chairs in the shade. The infant slept in Emily’s arms while Micah sat at Terri’s feet. The caseworker held a pen over her clipboard, scribbling away.
“Good afternoon,” said Jonas, feeling silly about being so formal.
“Join us, Mr. Gingerich. I have a few questions for you too.” Miss O’Brien seemed quite at ease under the tree.
“If I’m not needed, I’ll get some lunch from the porch,” said Sheriff Baker. “I happen to know Mrs. Gingerich bakes the best breads, pies, and cookies in the county.” Tipping his hat, he aimed himself toward the buffet.
Jonas pulled up an extra chair with the women. “What do yo
u need to know?”
Terri consulted her paper. “What would happen if you and your wife found out you were expecting a natural child of your own?”
The question took him by surprise. “We would raise them all together, not showing favor to one over the other. Who birthed the child makes no difference to me.”
Emily had been watching him from the corner of her eye and nodded agreement. “That’s what I said. Love is love. And there’s plenty to go around in our household.”
“You would be willing to cut your days at the bakery back to just two per week?” asked Terri of Emily.
“Certainly. Violet and Nora work so hard, I’m barely needed in the shop now. And if either woman quits my employment, I have several more who would like to take their place.”
“You both keep charged-up cell phones for emergencies?” Miss O’Brien peered at each as they nodded their heads like trained horses.
“And you have access to a vehicle in case of emergencies?”
“Our taxi service is available twenty-four hours a day. And I have English employees with cars I could call on without hesitation.”
She pondered for a moment. “Micah’s aunt insists they live in an Amish home. And few other Swartzentrubers live here in Paradise. Before you could petition for permanent adoption, I would need financial statements from your businesses. But that’s well down the line.” The social worker consulted her clipboard one final time before she told Emily the joyous news Jonas had already heard from Sheriff Baker. He bent down to lift Micah into his arms.
Emily closed her eyes and began to cry. Then she jumped to her feet with Laura pressed close to her chest. “Thank you, Miss O’Brien. You won’t regret your decision.” She kissed the baby’s forehead, smiling so broadly her face might break.
“You’re welcome, and congratulations to both of you. You’ll still see me from time to time, both for scheduled and unannounced visits, but I don’t foresee any problems.”
