Hills of Wheat

by Sarah Price

  “May I help you with something?” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper as she avoided the issue with names entirely.

  Seeing that he wasn’t getting past the wall, he sighed and ran his fingers through his hairs. His curls fell back onto his forehead, casting a slight shadow over his eyes. “I’m new around here, Sylvia. So, perhaps you could help me by pointing out the best vendors for some basic supplies. I need to outfit my house and want to acquaint myself with the local farmers.” He smiled again. “I figured that would be a great way to get to know my new community.”

  “I see,” she said, her voice soft and her eyes darting around the market.

  “Perhaps you could help?” He followed her gaze around the market.

  She chewed on her lower lip, not quite certain what it was that he wanted. But he waited for her to speak. He wasn’t going anywhere and Sylvia knew that she had to reply. Cautiously, she said, “I suppose the first thing to know would be that Englische men don’t usually shop here.”

  “What do you mean?” He laughed, looking over his shoulder at the hoards of people wandering throughout the market. “I see plenty of men here!”

  “Ja,” She said as she leaned forward, lowering her voice as she certainly didn’t want anyone to overhear. “But they are tourists,” she whispered as if it was a dirty word. “If you want to get to know your new community, you won’t do it here.”

  Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable. For the past week, he had been working and trying his best to get organized, settled down. He had seen the sign for the Farmers Market and thought that he would give it a visit on his next trip into town. “Well, where does one go then? I haven’t found much of anything around here, outside of the tourists traps at Intercourse.”

  “Well,” she began slowly. Her hesitation caught his attention. “If you remember Musser School Lane, there is a local store on one of the back roads near there. You can get everything you need, I suppose.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Where would that be located?”

  “It’s off of North Harvest Road. A dirt road. Not clearly marked since it’s mostly for the locals.”

  “Ah,” he said. “That sounds like a good start.” He started to thank her but a woman pushed him aside. He waved a good-bye and backed away, hoping to catch her gaze once more but she was busy serving the next person who had come along.

  For a long moment, he stood back and watched her interact with the customer. Patiently, Sylvia listened to the woman, helped her select the products, and put them into a plain brown bag. They exchanged money and the lady moved on, opening up space for another eager tourist to request a sample before making a purchase. Each time, Sylvia maintained her composure, shyly greeting them but serving their needs as quickly and pleasantly as she could.

  He imagined she was eighteen, maybe nineteen. She looked young with pretty skin and a soft demeanor. Her eyes were dark and her hair even darker. He wondered about her future. Certainly she would be married soon, have children, and tend to her family. It was a simple life, he knew that much. But, as he watched her, he knew that there was something deeper to this young woman.

  He remembered her from the field. She had seemed so at peace, standing alone among the field of growing wheat that surrounded her. Her face had radiated happiness and joy. Not like here, at the market. Clearly, she was uncomfortable interacting with the strangers, especially the men. He wondered if anyone knew or even cared that she disliked being in the market. From what little he knew about the Amish, he sincerely doubted it. Obedience was part of their lifestyle.

  “May I take your photo, young lady?”

  Jake had been just about to leave when he overheard the question coming from the next customer, a larger woman wearing a faded T-shirt and shorts with old sneakers. Clearly one of the dreaded “tourists” Sylvia had been referencing less than a minute ago, he thought. Unabashedly, the woman had removed a camera from her purse, despite the signs posted on the walls around the market.

  He watched Sylvia shake her head and start to turn away, packaging up the goods for the customer. But the woman was adamant. “It’s just a picture. I don’t see why you won’t pose,” the woman said, waving the camera in the air. Sylvia kept her back to the customer. But the woman persisted to the point of actually taking pictures of Sylvia’s back.

  “Excuse me,” Jake said, moving swiftly between the woman and the counter, blocking Sylvia from the invasive technology. “I believe the young lady said no.”

  “It’s just a picture!” the woman said.

  A large man walked up, eyeing Jake as he spoke to the woman. “What’s going on, Lorraine?”

  “This man is blocking my view of the Amish girl.”

  The large man stared at Jake, a scowl crossing his face. “You bothering my wife?”

  Jake smiled, his white teeth bright and his face friendly. “No sir. But I do believe that your wife is bothering my friend here.” He took a small step forward which forced the woman to back up. He began to put distance between the couple and Sylvia. “Amish people don’t like their photos taken but your wife is persisting. Perhaps you were unaware of that? I’m sure you meant no harm but, as you can see, my friend is most distressed. So, perhaps you could take your package,” he turned slightly and reached for the brown bag on the counter. Handing it to the man, Jake nodded away from the area. “And explain it to your wife. I’m sure that it’s nothing more than a simple misunderstanding.“

  “I didn’t pay the Amish girl,” the woman said.

  Jake met her gaze. “It’s my treat today, ma’am. You have yourself a great afternoon.” He stood between the couple and the counter, blocking their view of Sylvia. His smile was warm but firm, reinforcing his protective stance and encouraging them to leave. They had no choice. Reluctantly, the couple left, shaking their heads as they moved along the aisle, most likely to harass another Amish vendor.

  He waited until they had left before he turned back to Sylvia, “You alright?”

  She hadn’t turned around and her back was facing him, her shoulders trembling. It only took him a moment to realize that she was crying. Jake looked around. There was no one else to help. The other vendors were busy. He wasn’t certain what to do. Comforting women was not one of his strengths, especially women he didn’t know and certainly not an Amish woman.

  “Sylvia?” he said, his voice low as he leaned forward. “Is there someone I can ask to come over here?”

  She waved her hand over her shoulder, shaking her head. For a long moment, she stayed that way, her back straight but her shoulders trembling. It was shameful to cry and certainly much worse to do so in public.

  Jake glanced around again and, taking a deep breath, he walked around the counter and stood next to her. He hesitated as he reached out to touch her arm. “Sylvia?” he repeated softly.

  She turned around but didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t usually bother me.” There were tears in her eyes and her face was blotchy.

  “But it did today,” he said quietly.

  She glanced up at him, looking at him through her tears. “Yes. It did today.”

  He took a step backward, giving her some space. “It’s understandable.”

  “I don’t like being here,” she whispered. The color rose to her cheeks. The words had slipped out, surprising both her and Jake. She glanced up again, a newfound strength in her expression. She had thought the words so many times before but never before had she felt the courage to actually speak them. “I want to be at the farm, not here with these people.” She glanced around to make certain no one could hear her. “I know I should care about Susie Zook and her cancer but I don’t. Not if it means I have to be here with these Englischers.”

  Jake didn’t understand what she was saying but he could see something in her eyes that stopped him from asking questions. He knew enough about women to know when to keep silent. This was one of those moments. “Perhaps you should call it a day.” he suggested. “The market is c
losing in an hour anyway.”

  The brazen glow left her and her shoulders slumped. “My ride…” She was back to the quiet Sylvia with her eyes downcast and her voice soft, barely audible.

  “Well,” he began slowly, taking a moment to run his fingers through his curls. “I suppose I could find myself lost near your parents’ farm again.” He waited until she looked up. “That is if you’d like a ride back there. I’m headed that way anyway…to look for the North Harvest Road market. It was highly recommended by a friend.” This time, he smiled and was glad to see a hint of a smile on her lips. Yet, as quickly as it was there, it was gone.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know you. It wouldn’t be proper,” she whispered.

  “Neither is subjecting yourself to harassment by complete strangers.” He started to walk back around the counter. “Get your things, Sylvia. You don’t belong here. I’ll take you back to your farm.” It was clear that he was making the decision for her.

  There was just a moment’s hesitation. But in that moment, she knew. She looked into the future for the briefest of seconds. She knew that there are times in everyone’s life that are turning points. In her insulated world, she wasn’t given exposure to many of them. In fact, that was a key objective of her parents. They wanted to insulate her from life changing moments. Yet, they had failed and this was that moment.

  The decision that she would make in the next second would change everything. The image of the large woman with the camera flashed before her eyes, along with the image of the dozens of others who had stolen her photos over the past few weeks. When the image faded, she looked up at the man waiting for her and, without knowing why, she nodded her head and whispered a soft “Danke.” And she left the market with Jake Edwards.

  Chapter Three

  Except for market day, Sylvia spent her time helping her mother prepare meals and redding the house. There was always something to do…wash the floor, wash laundry, change the beds, dust the furniture. It was quiet work for the most part, except for when her sister-in-law, Lillian, stopped into the house with her children. She lived in the house next door, the grossdaadihaus.

  Many years ago, Sylvia’s grandparents had lived there, the small house attached to the main one that Jonas had built just for his aging parents. After they had passed, Jonas Jr. took his new bride to live there. One day, Jonas and Katie would move into the grossdaadihaus, after their children were married. At that time, Jonas Jr. would move his family into the bigger section of the house. It was the way that it was done among the People. Roots were the people, not the things, that surrounded them.

  Some times, Sylvia would hear the children’s laughter from next door or see them run by the window, chasing a kitten or playing with the dog. She loved the sound of their childish voices and, often, she would stop to watch them play. She had heard that Englischers lived only with their immediate family, rarely with their extended families. She couldn’t imagine such an unhappy life. She wondered if it was lonely. She knew for sure and certain that she wouldn’t like that since living with her family kept her life full of fellowship and joy.

  In the afternoons, Sylvia was able to work alongside her father in the fields or in the barn with the cows. With so many cows, it took a long time to clean the manure and the evening milking required as many hands as possible. Sylvia didn’t mind the work, even thought it was hard and draining. When she lay down on her bed at the end of the day, in those restful moments before sleep overtook her, she knew that she had a full day, despite the aches and weariness in her body. In truth, her parents knew that her brothers’ help was sufficient. But, everyone was also well aware of the fact that the time Sylvia spent outdoors was her favorite. And they all loved to see her face glowing with such happiness.

  Sylvia was the last of the Lapp daughters and, in many ways, the favored. She was quiet and shy yet always alert and, when asked, ready to give her opinion…but only if asked. She was a pretty young woman with dark chestnut hair and rich brown eyes. And when she worked outside, her eyes sparkled and her face lit up in unspoken delight. So letting her skip indoor chores to help outside was the one indulgence that her parents gave to her. They would disguise their gift under the auspice of labor. She loved when it was time to help her father and brothers plow the fields or cut the grass. The smell of the fresh cut grass and the feel of the dry dirt beneath her bare feet made her happy. It reminded her of the closeness she felt to God.

  Dinner and supper were always happy times in the Lapp house, despite the shrinking number of people surrounding the kitchen table. Sylvia missed her older sisters and brothers sitting around the trestle table for the noon meal. Most of her siblings had married and moved to their own farms, with the exception of Jonas, Jr. and his small family.

  Sylvia loved listening to her brothers, Steve and Daniel, talk about their work in the fields that morning or her younger brothers, David and Samuel, talk about their day apprenticing at Junior’s carpentry shop in the mornings. Her father might ask her a question or two about how things had gone at the market the day before but, for the most part, dinner conversation centered around the crops and farm. Sylvia preferred it that way. She didn’t like speaking about the market and didn’t like being the center of attention anyway. She preferred to hear about what had happened on the farm or with their neighbors.

  So, Sylvia was surprised when, one day, her father looked up and announced, “We have a new neighbor.”

  It was unusual for someone new to move into a neighboring farm. Typically, farms passed down from generation to generation. Worst-case scenario, they tended to be sold among each other. Farms were in short order. So, for a new neighbor, an unknown person, to move in without advanced notice was newsworthy, indeed! Certainly the tongues were wagging amongst the entire community.

  Katie looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Which place?”

  “Took over that small parcel that hasn’t been tended for so long,” her father replied.

  “The one next to Smucker’s place, then?”

  “Ja, that be the one. Can hardly see it from the road.” Jonas bent back to his plate, wiping the sides with a piece of homemade bread. “I didn’t even know it was for sale. Wonder if it was passed down.” Jonas shoved the piece of bread into his mouth. “Heard about him from Whitey. Says the new owner is a gentleman farmer, I s’pose.”

  “An Englischer?” Daniel asked.

  Their father nodded. “Ja, Englischer. Looking for some help with the house during the week. Mondays and Fridays.”

  Katie nodded, chewing her food carefully as if in deep thought. “If he’s looking for help with the house, he’s not married, then?”

  “A widower, I heard.”

  Sylvia saw her mother take a deep breath. Death was never discussed in much detail in the house. She knew that her own mother had buried two babies before Sylvia was born. And, it was only two years back when her sister-in-law, Shana, had a stillborn baby. But no one talked about it. Death was final. But it was also a time to return to God. So, while the earthly family mourned, the heavenly family rejoiced. Sylvia didn’t always understand it but, thankfully, hadn’t been exposed to it very often.

  “No wife? He’ll be needing some help for sure and certain, ja,” Katie said, shaking her head and clucking her tongue.

  Jonas leaned back in his chair, nodding to Sylvia. He was finished and it was her job to clear the table. Quickly, she jumped to the task and began clearing the empty plates. “Ja, for certain.” He paused, tugging at his beard. That was always a sign that he was up to something. “I was thinking of Sylvia.” A silence fell over the table. Sylvia hesitated before setting the dirty plates in the sink and, quietly, returning to the table to retrieve more dishes. Her brothers looked at her, which made her feel terribly uncomfortable “It would be just the mornings, redd up the place. She could be back for helping me with the afternoon chores and the evening milking. And the pay is right gut.”

  Katie glanced at Sylvia, too aware of the quest
ion in her eyes. “Lest we not forget, she’s helping Jacob Zook on Wednesdays and Fridays, Jonas,” she gently reminded her husband.

  Jonas nodded once. He seemed deep in thought again. No one spoke. The silence was broken only by the soft clanging of the dishes as Sylvia began to wash them. She worked as quietly as she could, listening and waiting for her father’s next words. It would be the final decision.

  Truth be told, she didn’t know how she felt about cleaning a strange man’s house. She imagined a widower, older with grey hair and set in his ways. He’d be particular, especially if his wife had passed recently. She had enough experience with widowers to know that the older the man is when the wife passes, the more fastidious they became. Yet, if cleaning his house meant that she didn’t have to go to the market anymore, she’d be happy to accept the job. Plus, it would allow her to work around the farm in the afternoon and evening. She held her breath, waiting.