by Adina Senft
Not Ginny. Business. He roped his thoughts into order. “I’m well, thanks. Just getting ready to start the glaze. I’m excited about these pieces, Dave—I haven’t felt this way about my work in years. Ever since that breakthrough with the sky and water glaze, I’ve been on this creative roll that—”
“That’s great, Henry. I’m glad to hear it. But what I’m really calling about is much more down to earth. Like, our promotion plan for your pieces. Can we talk about that?”
Heat prickled in his cheeks. Good thing he didn’t have one of those cell phones that showed the speaker’s face. He’d forgotten Dave probably didn’t have time for rhapsodizing about the creative process. “Sure,” he managed past his chagrin.
“So I’ve been chatting with our corporate counsel over the last couple of days.”
For a moment Henry couldn’t figure out what that had to do with him, and then he remembered. Shunning Amish. Good grief—had Dave really been serious about taking it to the lawyers? “Yes?”
“Have you thought any more about taking up TNC’s offer?”
“No,” he said truthfully. Once the dust had settled from the departure of Dave and Matt Alvarez, he hadn’t wasted a single neuron more on it. Everything had been focused on his life—his hands healing up, Sarah, Ginny, the pieces—
“Well, lawyers being what they are, it took a little while to get plain English out of them, but the upshot is, Henry, that you pretty much have to do the show, per your contract.”
Henry closed his eyes as a bolt of cold adrenaline shot through his body from head to foot. It took a second before he was able to speak. “How’s that, Dave?”
“I checked the contract language, and it says ‘every reasonable effort shall be made to promote.’ Every reasonable effort, Henry. TNC is willing to come to you. You don’t have to travel. You get final approval over the rough cut. They’re willing to work with you in any way that gets this episode made. I think that’s pretty reasonable, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” Henry allowed. “But I’m not working on a logistical level. I’m working on a moral level—the level of what will happen to my friends and family when this comes out. This is supposed to be reality TV, and you said yourself that good news doesn’t sell. No matter what I say on camera, they’re going to twist it so that some kind of exposé is the end product. I just can’t do it and live with my conscience.”
“Now, see, there’s where you’re wrong. You’re projecting your own fears on the segment that have no basis in reality. How do you know what the final product will be before it’s even made? This is all negative thinking and imagination, with no basis in fact.”
“The previous episodes are fact. They’re reality. I wonder how the families of those girls who did the quilting feel?”
“Now you’re just speculating,” Dave said impatiently. “Look. Here’s the deal. The legal eagles say that if you’re not willing to fulfill the terms of the contract, then Frith isn’t obligated to fulfill the order for your pieces. And that means the Christmas spread.”
Cold prickled anew over Henry’s skin, as though hundreds of bits of hail were striking him all at once. “But I’ve just finished the prototypes and bought the ingredients for the glazes for those pieces. And you probably already have inquiries about some of them.”
“We’ll hold up our side for the Thanksgiving pieces, since the catalogs have gone out and we have to fulfill those orders. But the big splash we were planning for Christmas? That’s up in the air unless you’re willing to do this.”
Silence fell as Henry looked at the Thanksgiving and Christmas pieces—weeks of work sitting on the shelves, ready for glazing. At the cartons of clay beyond, in the remodeled stalls, that meant a change in his financial circumstances—that would mean everything to him and Ginny in the months ahead.
Financial security and commercial recognition—the two things he had been working for since he was nineteen—balanced against the feelings of Paul and Barbara Byler, of Sarah and Caleb, of the Yoders, even of Joe and Priscilla. His gaze fell on Jesse Riehl’s car, sitting in front of the old hayloft doors, where the tow truck driver had left it on Sunday. What would the camera crew make of that, if it was still here when they came? Would poor Jesse be the next scandal they pursued? Would Whinburg Township be fertile ground for them to plow if he opened the gate and let them in?
But all this work…he dragged his gaze back inside. All this work. Where would he sell it if not at Frith?
“Henry? You there?”
“How much time do I have to make a decision?” Henry asked, his mouth dry, his insides heaving. “I have to talk this over with my fiancée, and she’s not back until tonight.”
“Let’s see. Today’s Tuesday. How about Friday? TNC is ready to go to contract. You greenlight this on Friday, the contracts will be on your doorstep by Monday, holiday or not. Matt told me so himself.”
“Fine. Friday.”
“Great! I know you’ll do the right thing for your career, Henry, and I look—”
But Henry never heard the rest of the sentence. He hung up the phone and leaned his forehead on the old wood of the barn door, as though it were the shoulder of a friend.
The comforting silence of the barn settled around him. His Dat’s special place had been the barn, where the family was always welcome, of course, but where he ruled supreme. Henry’s sisters and brother would run through the milking parlor, or play hide and seek in the hayloft, but in the end, when Dat said it was time to stop playing and help him, they obeyed without question. And when they were all in the house doing schoolwork or reading, Henry knew that Dat would be out there, happily mending or raking or hosing down, as at home in the solitude of his work as he was in the front room with his family for the nightly Bible verses.
With a sigh, Henry pushed himself off the solidity of the door. It was no surprise he was thinking about his father. What would Dat have said about Shunning Amish? Probably the same thing Henry did—that it was ninety percent lies and ten percent imagination. But weren’t lies and imagination responsible for much of the damage people could do to one another?
Outside, a sound intruded on his wish that, for the first time in decades, he could talk something over with his father—even if all he told him was that Henry would have to pray about it and do as God prompted him. After a moment, he recognized the sound as hooves and metal wheels on gravel, which meant an Amish vehicle.
That was a relief. So far, most of the Englisch vehicles that had come up his lane had meant bad news.
He stepped outside and Joe Byler drew up his horse at the rail. “Hey, Henry.”
“Hi, Joe.” He looked more closely. “Have you been to Whinburg and back already? Is that Jesse Riehl in the buggy with you?”
“Ja to both. But if you were hoping he might get his car out of your yard, you might have to wait a little.”
“Yeah? I checked it out and it starts. He’s going to have to pull the metal fender out of the front tire and pound it back into shape, then replace the tire, but once he does that, if he sticks to the back roads, he should be okay to drive to his aunt and uncle’s, at least. If he can’t do all that today, no problem. I don’t expect him to if you’ve just sprung him from the hospital.”
Joe wasn’t tying up his horse. Rather, he stood by the passenger door and gazed at Henry over the horse’s harness. “Mind if we go down to the house? Jesse here is about done in.”
As if to illustrate the words, Jesse slumped suddenly against the window, as if he couldn’t hold himself upright another second.
“Maybe they shouldn’t have sprung him,” Henry said in sudden alarm. “I can get him back to the hospital in half an hour.”
“No,” came from inside the buggy.
Clearly this wasn’t going to be resolved standing here in the yard, and the wind was kicking up as though the clouds moving back in meant business. “All right. Take him down to the house and I’ll meet you there. And tie your animal up under the cedar tree
. I don’t have accommodations for him in the barn anymore, but he and the buggy should stay about half dry if it rains.”
It looked like his plans for glazing would have to wait until tomorrow. Between this and Ginny’s return this evening, the hours of solitude he needed to concentrate just weren’t going to happen.
When he got down to the house, Joe had Jesse on the sofa with his feet up and his head on a patchwork pillow, and was filling a glass at the kitchen faucet. “He’s kind of woozy,” was the succinct diagnosis. “Even if that car worked, I wouldn’t trust him to drive.”
“Good call.”
Jesse rolled his head toward Joe and accepted the glass. “Good meds, man,” he said. “I never had industrial-strength ibuprofen before.” His gaze rose to Henry as he drank. “I know you.”
Henry nodded. “I was there when the ambulance came for you. I brought Amanda’s parents to see her, and then dropped in to see you. I’m surprised you remembered.”
“Thank you,” the boy said. “For doing that.”
“It was no trouble. I live practically next door to Amanda.” He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the Yoder farm. “But the question is, what are we going to do with you?”
“About that,” Joe put in, folding himself into the stiffly upholstered chair that Henry remembered his uncle avoiding because it was so uncomfortable. One of these days he’d get rid of it. Maybe he should turn Ginny loose in here and see what she could do with the place. Maybe he should call her and ask her to speed up her return.
Henry marshaled his thoughts back to the immediate problem and waited for Joe to go on.
“After I picked up Amanda’s cream, I went straight to the hospital and found the sheriff in Jesse’s room.”
“Joe,” groaned the other boy.
But Joe kept going, the way he probably kept his hand to the plow no matter what the mules wanted to do. “Looks like the address on his driver’s license ain’t quite right, since no Mennonite couple by the name of Riehl live there anymore.”
“Why would that bring the sheriff out?” Henry asked.
“Oh, he was just curious, I guess, since he wanted to let them know their nephew was all right and couldn’t find anyone to tell. Turns out Jesse’s actual current address is probably your yard right here.”
It took Henry a second to understand what Joe meant. Then he turned to look at Jesse, who now had one arm over his face. “Are you homeless? Have you been living in that car?”
Mumble.
“Jesse, quit hiding and talk to me like a responsible man who would ask a nice girl like Amanda to go riding with him. Does she know you lied about your situation?”
“No.”
“Does she know any of this?”
“No. And she doesn’t need to. I’m not going to show my face in this district again.” He struggled to sit up. “I’ll just go.”
Henry sighed and pushed him back down with one hand, which was as easy as petting a kitten. “Simmer down. Nobody’s making you go, and even if your car was drivable, we wouldn’t let you anyway. With your luck, you’d run off the road before you’d gone a mile and the outcome might be worse this time.”
“If you don’t want him here, he could come home with me,” Joe suggested. “As long as the car stays here, Mamm and Dat will be glad to look after him.”
The thought of telling an injured boy he didn’t want him there made Henry a little ill. Here was a problem he could solve with what he had on hand. Yes, it was inconvenient, but it would be a whole lot more inconvenient to poor Jesse if he turned him out. “Looks to me like he needs to sleep for about a week, and he’d get nothing but peace and quiet here. I’ve got a spare room and Sarah is just over the hill. I’d feel better if he was handy to my car, in case I have to get him back to the hospital, or over to her. Jesse, are you okay with that?”
But there was no answer. The poor kid was already sacked out, his face pale and drawn and his long, gangly limbs loose on the old cushions.
“There’s our answer,” Joe said. “Wonder how long he’s been living in that old thing.”
“Do we know where his family actually is?”
Joe shook his head. “But I can find out. There are Riehls here, too, and they all seem to be related.”
“You do that. Meanwhile, I’ll see Sarah about something to put on Jesse’s black eye.”
“And he’ll probably have bruises from the seat belt, like Amanda.”
Henry realized with a jolt of alarm that he had just committed to do the very thing he’d sworn not to do—see Sarah again. Well, for the sake of this beat-up kid on his couch, he’d do what was necessary. Keep things businesslike. And get out of there as fast as he could.
“Thanks, Joe. Among all of us, we’ll see he’s looked after—and maybe talk some sense into him as well.”
The corners of Joe’s mouth tipped up. “Going home to his parents can’t be as bad as living in a car. I wonder how he’s been feeding himself.”
“Odd jobs and kindness?”
“Maybe I’ll ask Mamm to make extra for dinner and bring you fellows over a couple of plates.”
“That would be kind of you, Joe, but don’t trouble your mother. I’m sure I can hunt up something around here.”
“It ain’t no trouble. You’re family,” he said simply.
It was all Henry could do to keep the smile steady on his face. How on earth could he go on television and tell the world what had compelled him to leave the church when the reality was that, because of the people living here in Willow Creek, he had never been happier?
Chapter 21
With the days so short now, Caleb was getting home from the construction site earlier, which meant Sarah started dinner around four o’clock. She liked to have everything ready when he came through the door, hungry as a hunter. Simon had spent yesterday and today turning over the last remains of her quilt garden, and tomorrow he’d sow the silage radishes that would provide a natural fertilizer when they in turn got turned under in February.
Now that winter was coming on, construction jobs would be few and far between, even for someone already on a crew like Caleb. She was going to have a gentle but firm talk with Simon on the subject of idleness. Even if all he did was walk over to milk his grandfather’s cows morning and evening, she’d be satisfied, but he had to keep his hands busy somehow, or the devil would.
She checked the sausage and potato casserole in the oven. Gut, it was coming along nicely. With some creamed corn, pickles, and chunky applesauce and bread, her boys would have a good meal to fuel their strong young bodies.
She was just wondering what she’d done with her sweater before she went outside to see if she could spot one of them, when a knock sounded on the back door. “Come in,” she called. Ah, there it was, over the arm of the sofa. Her guest was probably Corinne, coming to tell her Joe had brought the Traumeel cream for Amanda. Maybe there was news of Jesse, too. “Memm, is that—”
She stopped in the kitchen doorway at the sight of Henry, standing with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his head tipped back. Was he…breathing?
“Henry?”
His eyes opened and he smiled a friendly smile. “Whatever you’ve got going in that oven smells great.”
“It’s sausage and potato casserole. Would you like to stay and have some?” The invitation was automatic. Hospitable. Utterly foolish. That was the trouble with being surprised. Things came out of your mouth before you had the chance to reason them away.
“No, but thanks all the same. You’ll never believe who I’ve got on my front room sofa.”
She ran through the short list of possibilities. “Jesse Riehl?”
“Good guess.”
“What is he doing there? Is he all right? Why hasn’t he gone home by now?”
“Well, that’s just the trouble. Seems the address he gave isn’t current, no one related to him lives there, and he’s been living out of his car for who knows how long. So for the moment, h
e’s going to stay with me. I came to see if you had a salve that might help a black eye and some bruising. He’s had ibuprofen, but he seems kind of out of it so I don’t know if it’s doing any good. Looks like the hospital was more concerned about the possible concussion than they were about the rest of him. Joe Byler says that Amanda took a beating from the seat belt, and I imagine Jesse did, too.”
Goodness. Whatever next? A hundred questions crowded the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back and focused on the important thing. A young man needed help, and she had help to give. “I do, ja. I’ll give you a jar of the same thing I left for Amanda. But just so you know, you could have used the balm of Gilead on him.”
“I’ll remember that the next time an accident victim lands on my couch.”
“Come into the compiling room while I fill a jar for you. How did you find out there was no one living at the address he gave? And if they aren’t there, where are they?”
“The sheriff went over there, I guess, or tried to call, and found out. And who knows what happened to the aunt and uncle—if they even existed.” Henry leaned on the door frame and watched her get down a clean half-pint jar and the larger tub of the salve. “Joe’s going to try to track someone down through the family in this district.”
“Ah.” There were Riehls over by the Peachey place, whose family was so large and spread out it wouldn’t surprise her if they knew Jesse’s connections. “He’ll likely find what he needs to know before the sheriff will.”
“He’s Amish. Everybody knows you start with the family.” Henry smiled, and Sarah concentrated on what her hands were doing before her heart clutched and gave her away. “On a different subject, do you have a second to talk?”
Oh dear. About cures, yes. About anything remotely personal? If he said a single word about how she had thrown herself at him and how he had reminded her quite rightly that he belonged to someone else, she would run from the room in shame.
Maybe she would anyway.
“The boys will be home soon,” she finally managed, doing her best to sound as though she had a thousand things to do.
