by Beth Shriver
A mother of one of the victims spoke next when the reporter asked how she felt about the killer. “Judgment is in Gott’s hands. ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’” The woman’s voice cracked as she quoted the scripture. “We are looking inward, relying on our faith; we know our children are in heaven and that we will be with them again.”
The pride she’d always felt for her people shone through as she heard these words of faith from a group of people she admired. Jah, she had needed to do this, to come and find the person who gave her life, and in doing so, she now knew more than ever where she belonged.
Shame struck her as she realized how sad it was that such a horrible event was what finally made her realize where her heart was.
Rudy shook his head. “It would be hard to do.”
She came out of her thoughts and turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a lot harder for me than it seems to be for them.” He looked at her with a mix of anger and disappointment in his eyes. “I understand, but not at that level.”
Annie felt as if she were saying those words right along with those Amish people and without a war going on in her soul as Rudy was experiencing. He understood and appreciated their ways just as much as she did, but he didn’t live in the community anymore, and that’s what Annie was instantly thankful for. The freedoms, conveniences, and luxuries she’d discovered in Harrisonburg were nothing in comparison to the depth of faith she’d just witnessed.
The newscaster continued in a stunned voice. “Not only do these people say they forgive this man, but they want his family to stay in the community.”
The phone rang and the front door opened at the same time. Rudy answered the phone as Elizabeth walked in. “I’ve just heard.” Tears formed at the edges of her eyes. “Of all people…,” she mumbled, and sat in a chair by the television. “The effect of this is great. In looking for anything good to come from this, my hope is that others see this way of thinking, that they might turn the other cheek if they ever experience loss like this.”
“It’s hard to find the positive, but I think you may have found it.” Annie smiled meekly, and Elizabeth wiped her eyes.
When Levi walked in the door, Elizabeth went to him, and they talked quietly before entering the kitchen. “I heard about the shootings on the radio on the way home. How old were these girls?”
“Six to thirteen. Five are in the hospital.” Rudy seemed to find the need to place the facts in order to process what was happening, the logical, engineer side of him kicking in to cover his emotions.
Levi shook his head but didn’t respond; he just kept watching the repeating scenes on the TV. Annie couldn’t and didn’t talk about it anymore. She quietly prayed long prayers that filled her up and gave her peace, not the kind of peace that soothes you to the bottom of your soul but a peace that Gott was in this and in control. And then Essie walked in.
Essie slowed as she took in the mood of the room. “What’s going on?” She pushed back her springy blonde curls and focused on the blaring television. She was silent for a long time while Annie and Elizabeth started dinner, not that anyone was hungry—it was just something for them to do, a soothing ritual. Rudy and Levi helped, just for a distraction. Everyone was silent except for questions concerning the meal.
Annie kept a constant praying vigil as she worked, asking for strength for the families, community, and the message they were giving.
Essie suddenly stood and stepped closer to the television. “That reporter is totally right. No one should be forgiven unless they show remorse for what they’ve done.”
“Essie,” Elizabeth said with disappointment.
“Oh, Mom. It’s true. It’s like you’re not admitting evil exists. And this just goes to show that it’s everywhere.” She pointed a finger at the TV, ready for battle. She had to have known that everyone in the room disagreed with her, but then again she was probably saying it to push buttons that were so vulnerable at this moment—especially Annie’s.
Essie looked around the room, just waiting for someone to say something against her. Elizabeth continued cutting carrots, Levi sighed and then turned away, and Annie ignored her. Rudy, however, stepped in.
“This isn’t the time to let out your frustrations. Not now, Essie.” He looked at her like he understood but didn’t agree. Maybe he’d been where she was and had come out of it. There seemed to be some silent communication going on that she didn’t understand.
Essie looked to Annie and stammered, “You’re not perfect.” She crossed her arms over her chest and walked away.
Rudy came to Annie’s side as if to protect her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Any feelings she’d formed with Rudy during her time here suddenly seemed wrong. No matter how innocent she had claimed them to be, right then she was ashamed. And the doubts she held regarding John vanished. He had always been the one, and her own selfish pride had kept her from thinking any differently. She’d had her time away to discover who she was and what she wanted to be, and now all she wanted was to leave.
Annie lay in bed that night in internal agony. She hadn’t said a word to Rudy and had asked that she not be disturbed. Although dinner had been brought up, it sat by the door in the hall, untouched.
The news of the shootings seemed unreal, too horrible to comprehend. Her mind replayed the mourning families who looked so similar to the people she knew and loved. What if something happens to one of them while I’m gone? The thought stung her heart as tears flooded her eyes.
Sleep would be the only way to have any peace. She willed herself to close her eyes, shutting out the words of the conversation she’d had with Monica, but she would not pray.
How could it have been any worse? Annie wished she’d never met her, never come to Harrisonburg. The self-pity exhausted her enough to finally find rest.
The voices in Annie’s head began as a murmur then grew into a lingering whisper. She woke in a startle, sat up in Rudy’s bed, and scanned the room. No more of these thoughts. But she became aware these were of a different kind. These woke her up at night and spoke with strength. Go home, my child.
The comforting voice put her into a drowsy state, and it was in that moment she realized how much she missed John. Annie’s dreams took her to him.
John carried the metal holder full of bottles of milk for the calves as he and Annie made their way through the thick mud. The giant baby bottles held a powder mixed with water made for the newborns. The older calves were in a bigger corral but still close to one another, and they were covered with mud from the previous night’s rain. John set the holder of four bottles away from the group and handed one to Annie. He hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet, so Annie almost looked him in the eye.
“I want Cowlick.” The skinny calf had wiry swirls all over his black and white coat.
“What if I want him?” John tightened his lips into a surly grin.
Annie ignored him and walked over to the coveted calf. “Beatcha to him.”
“Bet he’d like mine better.” John teased the calf with another full bottle sloshing around in front of him.
“Don’t, John. You’re getting him all fired up.” The calf sucked so hard they could hear huge gulps going down his throat. Cowlick pulled on the rope that held him to the hut.
John laughed and shook the bottle, urging spurts of milk to spray out onto Annie and the calf.
“John Yoder!” The minute she yelled his name, the calf broke free and scrambled over her to get to the second bottle in John’s hands. Cowlick’s back hooves kicked Annie forward into a heap of mud mixed with other stuff Annie didn’t want to think about.
John laughed at the scene until he heard Annie’s cry.
She sat up and looked at her clothes covered with brown, dripping sludge. She thought of how her mamm would react when she came home, and that’s when she huffed out a cry.
John came over and crouched down next to her. “Are you hurt?” His brown eyes glistened in the sunlight.
&
nbsp; “No, just in trouble when Mamm sees this.” She gestured with her hands to her clothes.
“Come on, I’ll take care of you,” he said with a confident grin, and she knew he would. He always did.
He helped her up and brushed the big chunks of mud off her dress. “Take off your apron.”
She did and handed it to him.
“Follow me.” He took her by the hand. She had thought about how he always did that too.
They walked through the princess lace and flying insects to the pond. “Feel like a swim?” John took off his shoes, rolled up his pants to the knee, and stepped into the brisk water. It was a seasonable spring day, but the pond hadn’t been touched by the sun enough to have warmed up for a comfortable swim. Annie studied the water. Tall grasses edged its perimeter, where dragonflies chased each other. She took a deep breath and walked in until she was up to her waist.
John washed out her apron and shook it out for her. “Good as new,” he told her as he held it out for her to see. A few brown stains remained, and it was wrinkled and wet, but Annie would look much more presentable when she walked up to the kitchen door for lunch.
“It’s soaking wet, and so am I.” She brushed off most of the mud and stepped onto the bank of the pond. John helped her squeeze out the excess water bulging at the hem of her dress and took her hand again. He tugged on her to get her to run in the warm breeze until they reached the top of a nearby hill.
“Here’s a good spot.” He lay down in the swaying Kentucky bluegrass with tall weeds intermittently sprouting around. He patted next to him where he wanted her, and stuck a blade of grass in his mouth. “Better?”
She felt the moisture in her clothes start to warm in the midmorning sun and breathed in the fresh spring air. “Better. We should go fetch Cowlick.”
“We will.” He took her hand and laid it on his chest and then put his other hand behind his head. She copied him and turned to face him. He returned the stare with a smile, the blade of grass sticking out from one side of his lips.
Annie thought right then and there that no one had ever looked at her like that before, and she doubted anyone else ever would.
She found sleep and woke when the sun came up. Annie didn’t let her mind wander as she packed and readied herself to leave. Whatever reason the Lord had for her to come here, He also had a reason for her to go home. She owed it to Rudy to have some closure of her time here, but even more, she needed to make amends with her family, and foremost John, after being gone for three long months. It would be an awkward time to return with all the couples being announced, but the nudge she’d felt the night before couldn’t be ignored.
The Glicks gave her another farewell, this time more somber. Knowing their response, Annie decided no one would know the truth about her mother in the community. She didn’t need pity along with being chastised. The sympathy she felt for her sister community gave Annie another reason to go.
Rudy checked her bag and paid for her ticket. She didn’t have a choice, so she accepted his charity once again. “Danke, Rudy, for everything. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have ever finished what I started to do here.” Even though her feelings were mixed about the entire experience, she couldn’t be anything but grateful to him for his time and support.
He held up a hand, avoiding eye contact. “It wasn’t what you’d hoped for, Annie. I’m sorry for that.” He looked up at her now. “I’m sorry about that part of it, but I’m not sorry I met you, Annie Beiler.”
His intense gaze made Annie uncomfortable. She felt as if he wanted something more that she couldn’t give. She stood as the bus rolled in, appreciating the lack of intimidation this time regarding the huge machine. “I’m glad I met you too, Rudy.”
He took a step forward to embrace her. She gave him a quick hug and turned to go. Annie felt his gaze as she walked away but didn’t turn around. She was ready to go home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE STEEL CLOMP of the horse’s shoes against the hard ground created a familiar, settling rhythm in Annie’s head as Abraham drove her home.
“I had more visitors asking for your letters than customers while you were gone. And I’ll be if it wasn’t right before you left that I installed that bell above that door.”
Annie smiled at Abraham’s ability to always lighten the mood. She couldn’t keep still in the bench seat, and when she unfolded her hands, they were damp from nervous sweat. “They don’t know I’m coming.”
“No one? Even your daed and mamm?” Abraham’s eyes widened, but he kept them on the road. He gave the reins some slack and waved the leather so it made a slap against the horse’s hide. The animal picked up the pace as they turned to go up the long dirt path to her home. “So you don’t know.”
Annie studied his face and knew it was something bad. Had they already had a judge, jury, and trial before she even arrived home? Maybe she wasn’t even allowed to be here. “What is it, Abraham?”
“I don’t know how to tell you.” His eyes darted from her to the path. “Your daed’s daed passed away, Annie.” He pursed his lips. “I hate to be the one to tell you. I figured that’s why you came home.”
Annie’s heart dropped. She cupped her hand over her mouth as tears blurred the dirt path before her.
How could they keep this from me?
He hadn’t been sick. Dawdi was never sick.
“What happened?” she asked in a whisper.
“Just didn’t wake up one morning.” He pulled the buggy to a stop and tied the reins. Then he surrounded her with his burly arms. She accepted his warmth and took a moment to prepare herself for how this might turn out. She didn’t want to be more of a burden, along with what was already happening. She would need to put her needs aside and take care of her mammi and her daed. Ach, her daed would be so hardened.
Abraham pulled away. “Are you ready?” His soft eyes and gentle way didn’t match his stocky build.
She nodded and adjusted herself in her seat. As they got closer to her house, she noted the number of buggies at her home. “Is this the wake?”
Abraham nodded. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to pay my respects.” He reached back and pulled out a black jacket.
“Jah…jah, you should.” Annie watched a couple walk out of her home and another get out of their buggy to go in. The entire day was spent this way. Once the death was announced to the church and the obituary appeared in the local paper, the numbers for the viewing grew large.
Abraham jumped down and got Annie’s suitcase. She stepped onto the hard dirt path, feeling the pebbles scratch against the soles of her shoes, the same way the grief for her dawdi made her bruised heart raw. The anticipation was greater than she’d ever imagined, with the grief added to her return. More death. She knew her community was grieving with the Nickel Mines community 166 as well.
The door seemed almost as if it was coming to her instead of each footstep drawing her closer. A silhouette flashed by the front window, and then another.
How many are in there?
Her homecoming was meant to be for her family only, not the entire community—not yet.
She inhaled, taking in the fresh air, and let the wind seep out through her lips. Annie looked out over the hills, now brown and naked against the gray sky. Then she turned to the valley. The river moved peacefully through the fields and meadows. She had missed the fall colors, and inside Annie knew she’d missed a lot more.
The chatter stopped as they entered. In her mind’s eye everyone seemed to surge up to her then back away, with less and less sound. So this was it, the moment when all would show their true selves. She held her head up and caught the eyes of her mammi.
Before Annie had a moment to speak, Amos came through the maze of people filling the small home. His shoes clomped on the wood floor in quick rhythm as he strove to reach Annie before anyone else did. He squared his shoulders and stood more erect with each step.
He stopped in front of Annie and rested both hands
on her shoulders. His touch was light and gentle, as if needing to feel her to believe she was really there. Annie had never really noticed Daed’s eyes; he was always head-down in his work. But at this moment she noticed how dark brown they were, almost black, just like her dawdi’s. Ach, if only the others would respond to her the way her daed was right now. But this alone was a complete surprise, for her daed to come to her without her pleading for forgiveness. Her mamm, jah, but never Daed.
Annie waited for the words to come, not able to imagine what the first ones would be. A hint of a smile crossed his lined, tired face. “Annie.”
His one simple word, her name, gave Annie the courage to speak. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when Dawdi passed.”
“I knew you’d come. I’ve been waiting for you to return.” His eyes watered but held strong to hers.
Just the sound of her name on Daed’s tongue caused tears to prick at her eyes. She could only nod, and she glanced around the blurry room. Annie felt a hand grab her arm, strong but gentle. She turned to see the worn face of her mammi. Annie’s bottom lip trembled, and then she noticed Mammi’s hand shook too as she stroked Annie’s cheek. She nodded and walked away. The gesture, so quick and sweet, touched a part of Annie she’d pushed away. She hadn’t expected support from her mammi since this whole thing began.
Omar, the bishop, sat in a chair with a cup of tea in his lap. He held a spoon in his hand and appeared frozen with the shock of her arrival. Minister Zeke had both hands placed across his large stomach. He stared at her as if she were a ghost.
Eli came to Annie and sighed before reaching out and embracing her. Augustus and the boys were close behind, saying things that meshed together in her mind.
“We’re glad you’re home.”
“Missed you.”
“It’s good to see you.”
Other family friends came over to her then and offered their condolences, but few welcomed her home, as if they didn’t know whether her return was condoned. Many watched Omar or Zeke to see whether they were watching and whether their comments were acceptable. A very few close friends did say they were glad she was there without worry of consequences, but they were the minority.
