A Rose Revealed (The Amish Farm Trilogy 3)

by Gayle Roper

  “Mom,” he said as he pulled his hat off, “Father says he’s ready—”

  His words trailed off as he caught sight of Esther cradling Trevor. He stared, frozen, like he’d never seen her before, his face a mix of loss, resignation, and pole-axed wonder.

  She must have heard him speak, but Esther never acknowledged him. “Schloff, bubbli, schloff,” she said quietly to Trevor. “Close those little eyes. Ich lieb dich.”

  “Did you call, Elam?” Mary’s voice drifted down from upstairs.

  Elam started and cleared his throat. Suddenly he looked anywhere but at Esther.

  “Father said it’s time to go.” He turned to the door, paused and said, oh so casually, “You too, Esther.”

  She nodded without looking up. She turned to me and laid Trevor in my arms.

  “I think I’ll walk down with you instead of ride, Becky,” she said. “Iss all right?”

  Becky nodded. “Ja.”

  Elam slapped his hat on his head and went out with a barely contained slamming of the front door.

  Becky and I looked at each other and couldn’t resist smiling. The course of true love.

  Esther put on her black bonnet over her white organdy kapp and took her black shawl from a peg by the door. As she and Becky walked down the road, they looked like twins in their matching dresses. As a symbol of community, clothing was one of the big three, the others being horse and buggy travel and no electricity from the power grid.

  Trevor was a joy to babysit for. He was good but not docile in spite of his ill health. I listened to his heartbeat with my stethoscope and found it steady. Still I didn’t like the cyanosis all too readily visible about his lips, nails, and little feet. I kissed his tiny toes and then put him on my bed to sleep. I sat down to read and promptly fell asleep myself. Trevor and I both woke up over an hour later when he demanded some food.

  We went downstairs and I gave him a bottle. At first he wasn’t happy with the strange feel of the nipple, but after he got a few tastes of his mother’s milk, he settled down like a trooper. He even gave me a glorious burp.

  I wrapped him in a blanket, and he and I went outside. The day was beautiful, much warmer than it had been when Esther and Becky walked off in their shawls. Reveling in the unseasonably high temperatures, I took Trevor for a stroll, walking down the road away from the Stoltzfus farm. I didn’t want to seem like a typical nosey or curious Englischer spying on the funeral.

  We hadn’t gone far when a flock of farm geese waddled across the street in front of us, their little rumps twitching back and forth with every step. They glanced at me for a brief moment and decided I wasn’t a threat. They went back to their conversation, quacking and honking to each other as they moved with absolutely no hurry.

  A blue pickup truck approached from the opposite direction and came to a halt on the other side of the parade of geese. To be polite I smiled at the handsome young man behind the wheel. After all, we were both caught in a major traffic snarl, Bird-in-Hand style. He smiled vaguely back.

  I held Trevor up and said, “See the geese, sweetheart? Aren’t they pretty?”

  Trevor looked completely unimpressed, and I wondered if his little brain had the ability to even interpret what was before him. Give him a few more months, and he’d be talking to the geese like he understood exactly what they were saying, waving his fists and drooling.

  “I hope you get the chance to do that, Trev.” Oh, Lord, let him have the chance!

  Finally, the geese were safely across the road. The pickup drove by, and Trevor and I continued our stroll. When I began wishing for one of those Snuggli things that strap a baby to your chest, I knew it was time to turn around. We were almost back to the house when the pickup truck came by again, now from the opposite direction. It stopped beside us.

  The young man leaned out his cab window. “I’m looking for the Stoltzfus farm.”

  I smiled, thinking of the multitude of Stoltzfuses in the area. “Which Stoltzfus?”

  He shook his head. “That’s my problem. I don’t know. I’m looking for a girl named Becky Stoltzfus.”

  I stared at him, transfixed. Samuel?

  He misinterpreted my silence as my not knowing enough. “Her grandfather died recently, and I think the funeral’s today.”

  I nodded. “It is.”

  He broke into a great smile and his whole face lit up, igniting with hope like a recently lit torch. “You know her?”

  I nodded again. “I do.”

  “I’ve been trying to find her for four months. I can’t believe I’ve finally done it!”

  Suddenly I became aware of a procession of buggies bearing down on us from the Stoltzfus farm.

  “Uh-oh. Here comes Old Nate’s funeral procession now. See that drive right there?” I pointed to our drive. “Pull in there, but don’t get out of the truck.”

  He turned quickly and drove toward the procession until he reached our drive. Then he turned in as instructed. He started to get out of the cab.

  I hurried to reach him before the first buggies passed. It wouldn’t do for anyone who might recognize him to see him right now. Becky, Rachel and her family, and Annie all had more than enough to handle at the moment.

  But Samuel understood my concern. He walked around to the front of his truck and stood by the front bumper. From there he could see but not be clearly seen, especially since no one was looking for him.

  Trevor and I joined him, and we watched as buggy after buggy passed on the way to the Graabhof, the horses walking at a slow but steady pace. It crossed my mind that burial was at the same, sane, slow pace that dictated all of Amish life.

  When the last buggy had passed and driven on, I turned to Samuel. He wasn’t a tall man, but he had a rugged physique, probably from his early farming experience and present construction work. He had sun streaked light brown hair, the gold, amber, and gilt strands on his head mirrored in the bushy mustache that sat on his upper lip.

  I stared at the mustache in fascination. Here was a definite challenge to the community that had ostracized him because of the vehicle that Trevor and I were leaning against. Amish men wore their beards without mustaches. Harry Mast told me many Mennonites did too. It went back to the Reformation and the beginnings of the Anabaptist movement. Mustaches were an affectation of military men, so the nonviolent Anabaptists refused to wear them. To this day, hair on the upper lip is shaved.

  “What’s taken you so long?” I asked Samuel without preamble. I didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but my tone of voice wasn’t exactly warm.

  He raised both hands shoulder height as if in surrender. “I know. It’s been four months too long.” He shook his head in a sort of dazed disbelief. “No one—and I mean no one—would tell me where she was. I talked to her parents, her brothers and sisters, her neighbors. I talked to everyone. Or I tried to. No one would talk to me. They’d just shake their heads and turn their backs. Or they wouldn’t open their doors.”

  I nodded. “So how did you find her now?”

  “I’ve been watching her family for weeks now, thinking that soon someone would want to go see the baby or bring her home or something. I saw them leaving with suitcases Monday morning. I followed. The van driver who took them to the bus depot had a loud voice. ‘I hope the funeral goes well,’ he said as the family got out of his van and headed for the bus. Rachel nodded and gave a sad smile.”

  He glanced at Trevor and back to me. His brown eyes were warm and shining. It was obvious he was pleased that his quest might soon be at an end.

  “They took a bus east,” he said, “and I continued to follow all across Pennsylvania. I knew they must be going to Lancaster County. When they got off the bus in Harrisburg, a van picked them up. I followed it here, but we got separated when a milk tanker turning into a farm lane on Route 340 misjudged the turn and had to maneuver back and forth for a few minutes. When I could finally get around him, the taxi was long gone.”

  “So you’ve been driving around all mornin
g looking for the right farm?”

  He nodded. “I knew I was in the area, and how many funerals could there be today?”

  As we talked, I wondered what I should do with Samuel. I thought it was probably politically incorrect to invite a man under the ban into Mary and John’s living room, and I certainly didn’t want to ask a man I didn’t know into mine. On the other hand, it seemed rude not to offer him some hospitality until the funeral was over and he could do whatever it was he’d come to do.

  Just then Jake pulled into the drive like an answer to prayer.

  Samuel watched with interest as Jake got himself out of the van.

  “I thought you had classes until mid-afternoon,” I said as I enjoyed the sight of his handsome face. Oh, Lord, he’s got to admit he loves me. And You! He’s got to!

  He nodded. “One of my professors called in sick and class was canceled, so here I am.” He held out a hand to Samuel. “I’m Jake Zook.”

  “Sam Hershberger.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow and looked at me. “Becky’s Samuel?”

  “One and the same.”

  “What took you so long?” Jake asked.

  Trevor started to cry just then. He was undoubtedly hungry and probably wet.

  “Jake, why don’t you entertain Sam while I take care of the baby.”

  “Good idea.” Jake began wheeling toward the walk. “Follow me, Sam.”

  Sam fell in beside him and I heard him say, “I’ve got to thank you and your wife for being so kind. I had no idea what to expect when I got here.”

  Jake’s hands stilled on the wheels at the word wife, and I wondered what was going through his mind. I listened with interest for his response.

  “We’re glad to be of help. It’s little short of a miracle that I’m not meidung myself, so I understand what you’re going through.”

  “How did you escape?” Sam asked as they turned the corner of the house.

  Jake’s voice floated back. “Never took my vows.”

  I went into the main room of the house, going to the refrigerator for the last of the milk for Trevor. Becky had better show in the next couple of hours, or we would have a very unhappy baby on our hands. While the bottle warmed in a pan of water on the cookstove, I changed Trevor’s diaper. He definitely needed a dry, clean one.

  “That’s your daddy in there with Jake, Trev,” I told him as I bent over him. “But he doesn’t know that. He thinks you belong to Jake and me.”

  I got a funny little choke in my throat and a great fluttering in my stomach at the thought of Jake and me and a baby. I’d always assumed I’d have two or three kids just like every other girl child did, but I’d never before thought about it in terms of a specific father, not even when I was engaged to Ben—which undoubtedly said much about my depth of affection for him.

  I closed my eyes. Maybe someday, Lord? Please.

  I carried Trevor and his bottle over to Jake’s. I found the men talking like old friends, Sam on the sofa, Jake beside it. I noted with jealousy that Sam sat all the way back on the sofa and his feet still touched the floor. I took the rocker and began feeding the baby.

  “How old?” Sam asked, looking at the baby with interest.

  “Two months.” I shot Jake a look that meant don’t tell. It seemed to me that Becky should be the one to introduce Sam to his son.

  “That’s about how old our baby is,” Sam said. “And I haven’t even seen him yet.” His eyes were full of sorrow.

  “What happened to you, Sam?” I asked. “Becky tried to call you when she could escape long enough to get to the phone shanty. Your phone was disconnected.”

  He nodded. “When she disappeared, I went crazy trying to find out where she was. I missed work and got myself fired. Then I couldn’t pay my rent and got evicted. If it hadn’t been for Mr. and Mrs. Trowbridge, I don’t know what I would have done. They took me in and treated me like their son.”

  “Who are the Trowbridges?” Jake asked.

  “Becky used to clean for Mrs. Trowbridge. She—”

  “She’s the one who told Becky about grace!” I interrupted.

  Sam blinked, startled by my outburst. Jake merely smiled.

  “Don’t let her bother you, Sam,” he said. “She’s like that. That’s why I call her Tiger.”

  I looked at Jake, surprised and delighted at his words. He admitted to calling me Tiger! He glanced at me, grinning. The grin faded when he saw my expression, full of love and joy as it undoubtedly was. Our gazes held until Sam cleared his throat, a goofy smile on his face as he glanced from one of us to the other.

  Jake looked away from me. “So the Trowbridges helped you?”

  Sam returned to his story. “When Becky disappeared, I didn’t know anyone else who knew her, at least anyone else who would talk to me, so I went to see them. They took one look at me and invited me for supper. I told them my sad tale, and Mrs. Trowbridge said as quick as you please, ‘You just move in with us for a while, Sam. You stay here while you hunt for that dear girl. All we ask is that you have a Bible study with us for fifteen minutes each evening. No rent. All meals. Just a Bible study.’ Then she smiled at me and said, ‘I think Becky would like that.’”

  He ran his finger over his mustache. “They accepted me just as I was, rebel heart and all.”

  “How rebellious were you?” I asked. “Becky keeps saying you’re just practical.”

  “I might have been just practical and fed up with regulations when this all started, but when they hid Becky, my whole spirit went wild.” He stopped, trying to find words to tell us how he felt.

  “I had a horse once when I was about fourteen. He was wonderful and I was so proud of him. I took him for a ride one summer afternoon, just him and me, a very daring thing since horses are for plowing and pulling, not riding. It was hot and after a while I decided he wanted a drink. I took him to a stream. He lowered his head and began to drink, the stream lapping over his nostrils. His reins got caught around some rocks in the water and he couldn’t raise his head. He panicked and began kicking and flailing. I couldn’t get near him, no matter how much I tried. He was wild with fear. He drowned right there.”

  Sam was stroking his mustache rapidly, his reaction to the accident still very pronounced. He looked at Jake and me. “When Becky disappeared, I felt like that panicky horse inside. I was terrified, furious, unable to help myself or her. It was terrible! I wanted to kill someone. I wanted to beat her father and scream at her mother.” He shook his head. “I was absolutely full of hate.”

  Trevor stirred in my arms, and I held him to my shoulder. I rubbed my hand over his little back, feeling the bones of his spine with much too much clarity. He quieted under the rubbing.

  “But the Trowbridges loved me just as I was, all ugly. They told me they loved me because of Jesus. They listened to me shout and carry on. They listened to me whine about missing Becky without ever once telling me it was my fault she was missing to begin with because I got her pregnant. But they closed every conversation by telling me God loved me and wanted me to forgive the Stoltzfuses as He had forgiven me.”

  “And once you got the worst of the venom out of your system, you told them you didn’t deserve forgiveness, didn’t you?” I asked.

  Again Sam looked at me in surprise. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve had similar conversations with another rebel,” I said, smiling at Jake who glared at me.

  “Well, when you think of it,” Sam said, “why should God forgive me? I broke the Ordnung, I sinned with Becky, and I held hatred of the vilest kind in my heart.”

  “So why should He forgive you?” Jake repeated, interested in spite of himself.

  “No reason,” Sam said. “That’s what took me so long to see. He forgives because He wants to, and that’s it.”

  I don’t think Jake realized that he was shaking his head, unable or unwilling to accept Sam’s words.

  “Being raised Amish makes you think you have to be good enough for salvation,” Sa
m said. “Right? You have to keep the Ordnung and live pure lives and then maybe, just maybe.”

  Jake lifted himself to redistribute his weight. “You’ve got to earn God’s forgiveness.”

  “But that’s not what the Bible says.” Sam had his index finger in the air, waving it for emphasis. “God saved you by His special favor when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it.”

  I wondered if Jake recognized those verses as ones I’d quoted to him before. I didn’t dare look at him. I sensed he’d resent my checking up on his thought patterns by even so small a gesture. I kept my eyes fixed either on Sam or Trevor.

  “Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done,” Sam said again. “That’s a hard truth for an Amish boy to understand.”

  “It is,” Jake agreed. “It is.”

  As Sam spoke, I watched over his shoulder as the long line of buggies passed again, returning from the Graabhof. I knew Becky would be here very soon.

  Jake gave me a look I couldn’t decipher. “Tell me, Sam. What do you think of a Christian woman who says she believes in God’s forgiveness, but she can’t forgive herself?”

  Sam thought for a minute. “Why do we need to forgive ourselves if God’s already forgiven us in Christ?”

  “Isn’t not forgiving yourself saying you’re more important than God?” Jake asked. “Or as important as God?”

  “What?” I was scandalized at such a thought.

  “I’ve been thinking about this, Rose, because I know it bothers you,” Jake said. “If God forgave you, and God is really God, shouldn’t that be enough? Doesn’t insisting that you also have to forgive yourself raise you to His level? He did you a favor, but it wasn’t enough?”

  My heart beat fast as I listened. Was he right? Was I slapping God in the face and saying Jesus’ death wasn’t sufficient? I certainly never meant to.

  I stared at Jake. My thoughts whirled as I tried to grab hold of this new and potentially freeing concept.

  “Christ’s forgiveness is enough,” Sam said with the enthusiasm of a new believer who has found unexpected joy in his salvation. “Enough for everything.”