by Sarah Price
“Ach! This is right terrible.” Ella pushed away her own cup and saucer as if too disgusted to even drink her coffee. The color had drained from her cheeks. “The farm is gone?”
Just hearing the words spoken from Ella’s lips hurt Belle’s ears. It was too painful to fathom, but she knew that it was time to accept the facts. “So it appears.”
“Oh, Belle.” Tears welled up in Ella’s eyes. “You simply cannot move away.”
“We are. We’re to pack and leave in two weeks.”
Ella gasped. “Two weeks? Why! You’ve been there almost twenty years!”
“Fifteen years.”
“Your maem died on that farm. You grew up on that farm. Your family has years and years of memories of living on that farm. And these are things you can’t pack!” A tear fell from Ella’s eyes, trickling down her left cheek. Belle wondered if she was remembering the loss of her own mother, just a few short years after Belle’s. Perhaps that was one of the reasons they had become such gut friends. And then, of course, their friend Sadie Whitaker had lost her mother, too. They were a trio of motherless girls who had leaned on one another for support during their youth. But there had always been an extra-special bond between Ella and Belle, perhaps because they lived closer to each other and, therefore, spent more time together. Or perhaps it was that they both had to work twice as hard as other girls to make up for the flaws of their respective families. While they really never talked of the latter, it was something they knew only too well about each other.
The front door opened, and Ella’s stepmother marched into the room. There was a fierce look of determination on her face as she glanced around until her eyes landed on Belle. “Ah, Belle! I was hoping to find you here,” she said as she crossed the room. “What is this I hear? Moving!”
Slowly, Belle nodded her head. “Ja, you heard correctly.”
“Ella, go make me some tea,” she commanded as she sat in the chair at the head of the table. “And is it also true that Adam Hershberger bought the farm?”
“Ja. That’s true, too.”
Linda shook her head, clearly upset by the confirmation of this news. “Outrageous, that man! We’re supposed to help one another, not steal one anothers’ properties and leave families homeless!”
Belle gave a weak smile. How quickly stories changed when passed along the Amish grapevine. “He didn’t really . . . steal the property.”
But clearly Linda was not listening. “That Adam. Now what on earth would he want with your daed’s farm anyway? He has his own property, doesn’t he now? Surely that’s enough for one man to handle. Now, to steal your farm? Such a terrible thing.”
Despite being distraught at having to move, Belle felt compelled to correct Linda. “Linda, Daed sold it of his own volition.”
Linda gave a disapproving grimace as she clicked her tongue: tsk, tsk, tsk. “Your daed’s a might too proud, I’d say. He should’ve come to the church for help. But he never asked!”
There was nothing that Belle could say to argue Linda’s point. On numerous occasions, she had encouraged her father to do just that: ask for help. The g’may always took care of their own. Such was the way of the Amish. But he was too ashamed. While Belle understood his reluctance to ask for help, she wished that he hadn’t been so determined to make it on his own when it was evident that he couldn’t. If that was pride, she better understood the proverb “pride goeth before a fall.”
Of course, Belle also realized that Linda and several of the other members of the community could have helped her father by supporting his efforts. Why, Linda could have carried one of his grills at her store. Helping a man earn a living was certainly much better than forcing him to ask for financial assistance, something that would make the recipient feel beholden to the givers and the givers feel self-satisfied for helping out. Certainly pride could work both ways, she pondered.
But she would never say such a thing.
“Too late now.” Belle sighed. “We’re to vacate in two weeks.”
“Two weeks!” Another tsk, tsk, tsk. “I have half a mind to go speak to the bishop! Stealing your farm! Now,” she said, pointing a finger directly at Belle, “this is nothing short of a shunning offense if I ever heard one.” She barely looked at Ella as her stepdaughter set the cup of tea before her. “Reprehensible, that’s what this is!”
“Something has to be done,” Ella said as she sat down next to Belle. “You can’t move.”
But Belle knew that they could and, apparently, would have to do just that. “I can’t imagine leaving for another town, I’ll admit it,” she replied. They’d have to start over in a new place, with new people. Certainly her sisters would need to work, and that was not something she anticipated being a pleasant adjustment for them or for her or her daed.
Linda sipped at her tea and practically spat it out. “Ella! This tastes like swill!” She shoved the cup and saucer across the table. The liquid spilled onto the table, but Linda made no move to clean it. “Honestly! You’ll never attract a husband if you can’t even make a gut cup of tea or coffee!”
Belle averted her eyes, embarrassed about how Linda spoke to her friend. But Ella appeared unfazed as she apologized to her stepmother and then hurried to make a new cup of tea. Belle knew far too well that this was not the first time Ella had been spoken to in such a manner.
“Now, Belle,” Linda said, leaning forward, apparently unaware of her guest’s discomfort. “There is a simple solution, I’m sure.”
“Oh?”
Linda nodded. “Ja. If the bishop speaks to this Adam . . . Talks some sense into him. I understand he goes out that way from time to time. And, like I said, what on earth would Hershberger want with another farm anyway? He has no one to pass along his own farm to. Now he wants another? How will one man manage both places with no help?”
As Linda spoke, Belle felt the tightness return to her chest. Of course! she thought. Linda was right. Someone needed to talk to Adam Hershberger and explain the situation. Certainly he did not know the true depths of the Beiler family’s despair. The bishop might bring it up with Adam, but only a Beiler could explain their true situation. Besides, the bishop would surely not go speak with Adam unless her father requested it, and Belle knew that such an outcome was highly unlikely.
So, who better to speak to Adam than herself? She pondered the idea.
She would go to his farm and talk to him. Explain to him how all of this was a big mistake. As Linda said, there was no logic to his acquiring their farm. From what little she knew about Adam, the Hershberger farm was more than large enough for multiple Amish families. And to think that he farmed it all on his own!
Another idea popped into her head.
Living all alone, why! Adam must need help in the house. She had never heard of anyone working on his farm or at the house. It must be terribly neglected. She could clean the house and cook some of his meals. Yes, Belle would approach him with a barter arrangement: let them continue to live in their house in exchange for her help. It wasn’t as if her father wanted to farm anyway. Even Adam Hershberger couldn’t argue the logic behind her idea. Of course, Belle did not want to be around Adam any more than the next person did. But she would make that sacrifice if it meant her family did not have to move.
With this realization, her heart began to beat rapidly and she became excited. It was actually a fine solution all the way around for her and her family. If the Beilers could actually live rent-free and have use of the workshop while Adam did whatever he wanted with the land, everyone would win. Her father wouldn’t have to worry about a mortgage or paying property taxes! With Belle helping Adam, her sisters would have no choice but to start helping out more around the house, and that would humble them, perhaps enough to finally attract husbands!
She jumped to her feet.
“Oh, Ella! Linda!” Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. She didn’t want to share the idea with them just yet for fear that they might try to talk her out of visiting Adam. His re
putation as a gruff, unkind man was common knowledge. But that did not matter to Belle, and even made her more determined than ever to speak to him. “I . . . I have to go! I forgot about something important that I must do!”
Ella looked bewildered. “But you only just got here a few minutes ago!”
“I’m so sorry, Ella.” And she meant it. Belle could sense Ella’s disappointment. She knew that Ella enjoyed not only her company but also the fact that Linda treated her a little better when Belle was around. As soon as Belle left, Linda would begin barking out orders and a whole list of chores for Ella to finish. But Belle couldn’t help that. Not today, anyway. She had her own family woes to worry about. “Truly, I must excuse myself.”
A few minutes later, she walked alone down the road, role-playing out loud what she would say to Adam to try to convince him. As she walked, her bare feet kicking up dust along the way, she extended her hand as if he stood right before her. “Good afternoon, Adam. My name is Belle,” she said aloud and forced a smile. “And I’d like to discuss some business with you.”
Nee, she thought. That sounds too professional and not friendly enough.
“My name is Belle Beiler and I want to talk to you about my father’s farm . . .”
Nee! Too aggressive.
“Hello, Adam. I’m Belle Beiler. Mayhaps we could help each other with a troubling situation?”
Hmm. That sounded softer. More pleasant. Belle wondered if it might actually do the trick. Even intrigue him enough to engage in a useful discussion with her. Besides, she argued with herself, just because he preferred to isolate himself didn’t mean that he was as disagreeable as Linda Troyer and some of the other members of her community claimed.
She continued talking to herself, trying to find the perfect opening that would pique Adam Hershberger’s interest without sounding too pushy or aggressive. The right tone of voice. Despite what Linda Troyer thought, Adam had done nothing wrong in purchasing the Beiler farm. Pointing the finger at him might make her feel better, but Belle knew the truth. The blame for the loss of the farm lay on one person’s—and only one person’s—shoulders: her own father’s. However, she suspected that the only person who could get Adam to improve the situation was herself.
With a new spring to her step, Belle hurried away from town. When she approached her father’s farm, she quickly passed the driveway, hoping that no one would see her. Of course, neither one of her sisters was outside, and her father was probably in his workshop, lamenting the loss of the property and his inability to provide for his small family.
Dear Lord, Belle found herself praying, please guide my tongue as surely as you are now guiding my feet down this road. I know that this is the solution to our problems. Now if only I can speak the right words to appeal to Adam’s sense of compassion. Please help me find the right words, Lord. Her prayer grew stronger with each step she took, and she knew that it was God, not her own feet, that carried her down the road to Adam Hershberger’s farm.
Chapter Six
Belle stood at the door, her hand aching from knocking against the weathered wood that was so in need of a fresh coat of paint. Could it be that Adam, too, was a tad short on motivation for maintenance? It was not a large home by any standards, at least not from the outside. It appeared to be a typical older farmhouse with a porch across the front and, from the looks of it, another, smaller porch just outside the back door. She had seen it as she approached the house from the road.
The front of the house had two windows on both the first and second floors. The front door wasn’t in the middle of the house but was set a bit off center to the left. She wasn’t sure if its strange placement was by design or because of a later addition to the floor plan.
Taking a few steps toward the first window, she peeked through the glass. It was so dirty that she had to rub a spot with the back of her hand in order to see inside. There was a sitting room with a sofa, a rocking chair, and a small table. The room was small and probably where the family would gather in the evening . . . That is if other people lived at the Hershberger farm. But Belle knew that Adam lived alone, and she was convinced that this room hadn’t been used in years.
Turning back to study the front yard, she noticed that it was littered with garbage, old damaged furniture, and broken tools. It resembled more of a junkyard than an Amish farm, or at least, any Amish farm that Belle had ever seen.
As far as the landscape, everything appeared overgrown: bushes, trees, weeds. If there were any former flower beds, Belle couldn’t distinguish where they might have been. She could, however, just barely make out the remnants of a vegetable garden. Overgrown, of course, as everything else was.
Just beyond the house was a patch of pine trees that hid most of the dairy barn. It was larger than any of the barns she had seen on the farms in Echo Creek. And the cows, a mixture of Holsteins and Jerseys, wandered through the plush green fields that were visible behind the barn, beyond another patch of pine trees. At least the animals appeared to be healthy and cared for.
Sighing, Belle turned and knocked one last time at the door, hoping that someone would answer, but to no avail. There was still no answer.
Boldly, she reached for the doorknob, her fingers touching the worn metal that didn’t even have a lock in it. Instead, there was a large, old-fashioned keyhole just beneath it. With one simple turn of the knob, the door swung open, and she took a step backward as if half expecting someone to be standing there ready to admonish her for entering the house.
But the room was empty. In fact, the entire entrance room was empty. Of furniture, at least. But there were crates on the floor, each one filled with sticks and logs, stacked in such a way as to create a path down a long hallway beside the staircase that led to the second floor. The hardwood floor was littered with leaves and dirt. Clearly the house had not been cleaned in years. The odor of time and neglect struck her nostrils and she shut her eyes, repulsed that her father had actually spent the night at such a house.
“Hello?”
No one responded.
Cautiously, as if the floorboards might crack beneath her feet, Belle stepped inside. She tried to breathe through her mouth, but the air tasted as bad as it smelled. She called out again and was answered with silence.
She followed the path down the hallway. With the windows facing the north and south, the house was dark. She saw no lanterns to light, even when she stepped into the kitchen. If she had been appalled at first at the condition of the entrance room, she was even more horrified when she entered the kitchen. Not only was it dirty and congested with crates of timber but the counter was covered with dirty dishes and rubbish. The sink dripped, the noise of each drop reverberating in the silence of the room. She thought she saw a small gray mouse scurry across the back of the stove, which had clearly not been used for cooking in such a long time that there was no fear in the mouse at making such a bold journey.
The back door was open, and the screen door, meant to keep out flies and other small creatures, banged gently in the soft breeze that had followed the storm. She stepped over to it, careful not to trip on a bag of garbage on the floor. She thought she heard a noise coming from the stable, which was in between the house and the dairy barn. Taking a deep breath, she left the house and hurried across the yard toward the small building where she imagined the horse and mules resided.
Upon entering the barn, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Despite the fact that all of the windows were unopened, everything appeared immaculate. Fresh hay was on the floor, the walls were cleared of the typical cobwebs that adorned corners and ceiling, and few flies bothered her.
“Hello?” she called out one last time. A horse nickered in response. She walked over to the stall and reached out to touch its nose. “Where is your owner?”
“People don’t own animals!”
The deep voice startled her, and Belle spun around, taking a step away so that her back pressed against the stall door. She could see no one, yet she knew that
she had heard a man’s voice.
From the shadows, she saw movement.
“Adam?”
“Indeed.”
She squinted. Just barely could she make out his form. “I . . . I’m Belle Beiler. Melvin’s dochder.”
A low sound that resembled a growl came from the direction where he stood. “I know who you are.” His answer surprised her. Why on earth should he know her? “What I don’t know is why you are trespassing on my farm.”
She took a deep breath and stepped forward, peering in his direction but unable to catch a glimpse of his face. “I . . . I’ve come to talk to you about my father’s farm.”
“You mean my farm now, ja?”
Swallowing, she took another step toward the dark corner his voice came from. “We have two weeks, ja? It’s still ours until then.”
“Ten days to be exact.”
Was he truly so eager to see her small family displaced that he was already counting the days? “About that . . .”
Another growl.
She felt her knees shake, and she wished that she was still standing by the stall for support. But she knew that she needed to be strong, to be assertive with this stranger in order to help her family. “There must be some other way. Surely you must not have realized that you’re taking our home.” No response. “We will be homeless. Perhaps you didn’t realize that my daed has three dochders at home. That we’ve lived there for almost twenty years.”
“Fifteen years.” His rebuttal startled her almost as much as his presence.
“Ja, fifteen years.” How had he known the exact period of time? Swallowing, she stood there in the center of the aisle and waited for him to appear. It was the proper thing for someone to do. But he remained hidden.
“What is it exactly that you want from me, Belle Beiler?” There was a mocking undercurrent in his deep voice.
“I . . . I wanted to talk to you about alternatives. Surely, in your heart, you don’t wish to see us homeless.”
This time, the noise sounded like a scornful laugh. “You think you know my heart?”
