The Bishop's Daughter

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  “Wie geht’s?” Abraham asked, extending his hand when Jacob joined him inside the barn a few minutes later.

  Jacob offered Abraham a strong handshake and grinned, causing the skin around Jacob’s hazel-colored eyes to crinkle. “I can’t complain. How are you this warm April afternoon?”

  Abraham nodded toward the bales of straw piled along one side of the barn. “I was about to clean the horses’ stalls and spread some of that on the floor.”

  “By yourself? Where are those able-bodied buwe of yours?”

  “Norman, Jake, and Samuel went home to their families for the day, and I sent the twins inside to wash up.” Abraham shook his head. “Titus pulled one of his pranks, and he and Timothy ended up with manure all over their clothes.”

  “Phew! Sure am glad I missed seeing those two.” Jacob removed his straw hat and fanned his face with the brim. “Can we sit and talk a spell, or would ya rather work while we gab?”

  Abraham gave his nearly gray beard a quick pull. “Me and the buwe worked hard in the fields all morning, so I think I deserve a little break.” He motioned to a couple of wooden barrels. “Let’s have a seat.”

  Jacob lowered himself to one of the barrels and groaned. “You oughta get some padding for these if you’re gonna keep using ’em for chairs.”

  Abraham snickered. “Jah, well, if I got too comfortable out here in the barn, I might not appreciate my old rockin’ chair in the house.”

  “You’ve got a point.”

  “How come you’re not working on some paint job this afternoon, and what brings you out our way?” Abraham asked his friend.

  “I’m headed to Bird-in-Hand to bid on a paint job for the bank there, and I thought I’d drop by to see you first.” Jacob’s fingers traced the side of his prominent nose. “I know today is Zach’s twenty-first birthday, and I figured you might be feeling kind of down.”

  Abraham leaned his head against the wooden planks behind him. It always amazed him how Jacob seemed to know when he needed to talk, and his friend’s memory for dates was even more astonishing. Ever since Abraham had known Jacob Weaver, he’d been impressed by the man’s wisdom and ability to offer godly counsel. When Jacob had been chosen as their new bishop some fourteen years ago, he’d become even more knowledgeable and helpful during times of need. Everyone in the community seemed to admire, respect, and appreciate the way Bishop Jacob Weaver led his flock.

  “You’re right,” Abraham admitted. “I did feel a pang of regret when I got up this morning and looked at the calendar.” He drew in a deep breath and expelled it with a huff. “For many years, I prayed that my son would be returned to us, but after a time, I came to accept the fact that Zach’s not comin’ home. Even though I don’t talk about him much anymore, I’ve never forgotten my boy or quit praying that God would protect Zach and use his life for good.”

  Jacob reached over and touched Abraham’s arm. “I’ve prayed for your missing son all these many years, too.”

  “Jah, I know.” Abraham cleared his throat. “Truth is, even if Zach were to come home now, he wouldn’t know us, and we wouldn’t know him. We’d be like strangers.” He gave his beard another good tug. “Just wish I knew how he was gettin’ along out there in the English world. It would have helped if we’d have gotten more than one message in The Budget from the man who stole Zach—something that would have let us know he was still doin’ all right.”

  “You must remember that God’s ways are not our ways. He has His hand on Zach,” Jacob reminded.

  “I realize that, and rather than dwelling on what can’t be changed, some time ago I made up my mind to get on with the business of livin’ and enjoy the family I have right now.”

  “That’s good thinking.” Jacob thumped Abraham on the back and stood. “Guess I should be on my way.”

  Abraham walked his friend out to his buggy, and Jacob was about to climb in when another horse and buggy rolled into the yard. Abraham’s grandson Harley was the driver, and as soon as the horse came to a stop, he jumped down from the buggy and dashed over to the men.

  “What are you doin’ out of school?” Abraham asked, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  Rivulets of sweat trickled off Harley’s forehead and onto his flushed cheeks. “I went by Jacob’s place, but nobody was at home, so I decided to come over here, hopin’ you might know where Jacob was.”

  “And so you found me,” Jacob said. “What can I do for you, Harley?”

  “It–it’s Leona,” the boy panted. “She got hit with a baseball and has been taken to the hospital.”

  Miss Weaver, can you hear me? Try to open your eyes if you can.”

  Leona forced one eye open and blinked against the invading light that threatened to blind her. The other eye wouldn’t cooperate. It felt as though it were glued shut. She tried to sit up, but the blurry-looking middle-aged English woman dressed in a white uniform laid a gentle hand on Leona’s shoulder.

  “Wh–where am I?” Leona rasped in a nasal tone. Her nose seemed to be plugged, and she needed to open her mouth to breathe.

  “You’re in Lancaster General Hospital. You were brought here a few hours ago.”

  Leona pushed against the pillow as memories rose to the surface of her thoughts. She’d gone outside during afternoon recess hoping to clear her head of the painful memories concerning Ezra’s death and had planned to play ball with her students. She remembered Silas standing on third base, and it had been her intention to hit a good ball and bring him on home. Someone had called her name, and she had looked away. Then. . .

  “How—how bad am I hurt?”

  “Your nose is broken, one eye is swollen shut, and you have a slight concussion,” the nurse replied. “You were unconscious when the ambulance brought you to the hospital, and you were moved to this room after your injuries were diagnosed and treated. The doctor wants to keep you overnight for observation.”

  Leona squinted her one good eye and tried to focus. “My glasses. Wh–where are my glasses?”

  “I’ve not seen any glasses,” the nurse replied. “I suspect they were broken when the ball hit your face.”

  Leona groaned. “I need them in order to teach. I don’t see well enough to read without them.”

  “You probably won’t be able to return to work for a few weeks, and I’m sure you’ll be able to get a new pair by then.”

  “But—but school will be out for the summer soon.” Leona fought against the tears clogging her throat. “I—I must be able to teach my students.”

  “I’m sure you will in due time. You’ll just need to be patient.” The nurse patted Leona’s hand. “Your folks are in the visitors’ lounge waiting to see you. Should I show them in?”

  “Please.”

  The nurse left the room, and a few minutes later, Papa’s bearded face stared down at Leona. “Ona, what’s happened to you?”

  “I—I got hit in the face with a ball I should have seen coming. That’s what I get for thinking I’m still a young girl.” Despite her discomfort, Leona managed a weak smile. She always felt better whenever she and Papa were together. The use of her nickname let her know that he was as happy to see her as she was to see him.

  Papa reached out to stroke the uninjured side of her face. “No matter how old you get to be, you’ll always be my little maedel.”

  Tears sprang to Leona’s eyes. “Oh, Papa, your little girl has gone and broken her glasses, and I can’t possibly teach school without ’em.”

  “One of your students found them in the dirt, but they were busted up pretty bad,” Leona’s mother said as she stepped up to the bed.

  “I—I knew it.” Leona sniffed, then winced as a sharp pain shot through her nose. “There’s only a few more weeks ’til summer break, and—”

  “A substitute teacher will be taking your place,” Papa interrupted.

  Leona shook her head, ignoring the pain radiating from her forehead all the way down to her chin. “I’ll be all right in a few days. I’
ll need new glasses, though.”

  Papa clicked his tongue. “If you could see how swollen your nose and left eye are right now, you’d realize you’re not gonna be wearin’ your glasses for some time yet.” He reached for her hand and gently squeezed her fingers. “The best thing you can do is rest and allow your body to heal. The school board will find someone to fill in for the rest of the year.”

  Leona shook her head again, but a jolt of pain shot through her nose, and she winced. “I—I must teach, Papa. It’s all I have left now that Ezra’s gone.”

  “Oh, Leona, don’t say that.” Mom patted Leona’s arm. “One of these days, the pain of losin’ Ezra will lessen, and then—”

  Leona shook her head again, this time more slowly. “Nee. I just want to teach my students. They are all I have now.”

  This has not been a good day. Not a good day at all, Naomi Hoffmeir thought as she stood in front of her propane cookstove preparing to cook her family’s supper. First thing this morning, Kevin, her youngest, had spilled syrup all over his clean trousers. Then Millie fussed and fretted because she wanted to accompany her parents and older sisters to the store rather than stay with Grandma Hoffmeir for the day. Next, a tour bus unloaded a bunch of Englishers in front of their general store, and Naomi, Caleb, and their two oldest girls had been bombarded with a whole lot of questions. Even Naomi’s sister-in-law, Abby, who ran the quilt shop next door, had been busy all morning with the curious tourists. Around one o’clock, when Naomi had finally taken the time to eat lunch, she’d glanced at the calendar and realized that today was Zach’s twenty-first birthday. For twenty years, her little brother had been missing, and her heart still ached whenever she thought of him.

  Hardly a day’s gone by that I haven’t said a prayer for my missing bruder, she thought ruefully. Is he happy and doing well among the English? Does he have a job? A girlfriend? Could he even be married by now? Of one thing Naomi felt sure: If God had seen fit to return Zach to them, He would have already done so. Papa and all Zach’s siblings had moved on with their lives, and she was sure Zach didn’t know any of them even existed. How could he? He’d only been a year old when a stranger snatched him from their yard. And it wasn’t likely that the kidnapper had told Zach about them.

  “Mama, guess what happened at school today?”

  “Jah. You’ll never believe it.”

  Naomi turned from the stove to greet her two sons, who had just rushed into the kitchen, faces flushed and eyes wide open. It appeared as if they had run all the way home from school. “Have a seat and tell me what happened,” she said, motioning to the table.

  “Teacher got hit in the face with a ball,” nine-year-old Nate announced.

  “That’s right,” his older brother, Josh, agreed. “Emanuel Lapp was pitchin’, and he smacked her right in the naas.”

  “You should’ve seen it, Mama,” Nate said, his dark eyes looking ever so serious. “Never knew a person’s naas could bleed so much.”

  Naomi pulled out a chair across from the boys and sat down. “I’m sorry to hear about Leona. I hope she wasn’t hurt too bad.”

  Josh’s blond head bobbed up and down. “Teacher passed out soon after the ball clobbered her. One of the Englishers who lives near the school called 9-1-1, and Leona had to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance.”

  Naomi gasped. “How baremlich.”

  Nate nodded in response. “Mama, it will be terrible for all of us if Teacher isn’t in school tomorrow.”

  “From the sounds of it, she’s not likely to be there, but we’ll have to wait and see. In the meantime, we need to pray for her.”

  The boys agreed, their faces somber.

  “Can we have some cookies and milk?” Josh asked, abruptly changing the subject. “I’m starvin!”

  “Sure. You can get the milk from the refrigerator while Nate brings some glasses from the cupboard.” Naomi pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “I’ll run upstairs and get Kevin and Millie. I’m sure they’d like a snack, too.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if I’m not here for dinner tonight,” Jimmy said as he and Jim entered the house through the garage entrance. “Allen called earlier and asked if I’d like to go bowling. We’ll probably grab a hot dog or something at the snack bar there.”

  Jim shrugged. “Not a problem. I’m still full from that huge platter of oysters and shrimp I wolfed down during lunch.”

  “Yeah, I can relate. I ate more than my share of fish and chips.” Jimmy hung his jacket on the coat tree in the hallway. “Sure am glad I didn’t grow up anywhere but here in the Pacific Northwest. Everyone I know says we’ve got the best fish around.”

  “Yeah, nothing better than our fresh-from-the-sea food.”

  “I guess I’ll head upstairs and take a shower,” Jimmy said. “I told Allen I’d meet him at six.”

  “Sure, go ahead.” Jim was glad he would be home alone all evening. It would give him time to think things over and decide whether he should broach the subject of Jimmy’s adoption, as he’d promised Linda he would do when Jimmy was old enough.

  An hour later, with a bowl of clam chowder and a stack of saltine crackers piled on a tray, Jim settled himself on the couch in the living room, prepared to watch TV while he ate. When Linda was alive, she would have pitched a fit if he’d wanted to eat in the living room, but she wasn’t here to tell him what to do; and since Jimmy had left to go bowling a short time ago, Jim didn’t have to answer to anyone.

  “I still miss you, Linda,” he mumbled. “Even though we had our share of problems, I always loved you.”

  Jim thought about the day of Linda’s funeral and how his folks had flown in from Ohio and Linda’s parents and sister had driven to Puyallup from their homes in Idaho. Both sets of parents had suggested that Jim move closer to them, saying it would be good for Jimmy to be near his grandparents. But Jim had refused each of their offers. Linda’s mother was a control freak, and he knew she would have tried to take over raising Jimmy. Besides, there was his painting business to consider. Jim had worked hard to establish a good relationship with the general contractors in the area, not to mention the jobs he got from individual home owners. If he were to sell his business and move to Idaho or Ohio, it would mean having to start over, and he had no desire to do that.

  A curl of steam lifted from the bowl of chowder, letting Jim know it was probably still too hot to eat. He grabbed the TV remote and pushed the ON button. Jimmy and I have done all right by ourselves since Linda died. In fact, if she could see our son now, she’d be real proud. Jimmy’s a good kid, and he’s a dependable worker. One of these day, when I’m ready to retire, I hope to turn my painting business over to him.

  Jim clicked through several channels, hoping to find something interesting to watch, but it was no use. All he could think about was Jimmy and the promise he’d made to Linda to tell their son the truth about his adoption.

  His gaze came to rest on the photo album lying on the coffee table, and he leaned over and picked it up. Turning to the first page, he saw pictures of Jimmy during his first year with them, surrounded by little sayings and drawings Linda had made. Jimmy takes his first step. Jimmy cuts a tooth. Jimmy turns two.

  He flipped a couple more pages. Jimmy’s first Christmas. Jimmy playing in the mud. Jimmy eating chocolate ice cream.

  There were pictures of Jimmy on his first day at school, learning to ride a bike, helping Jim rake leaves in the backyard, running through the sprinkler, and so many others depicting the boy’s life over the twenty years he’d been with them. He’d been a happy child, always eager to please and ready to help out. For the first several years, Jimmy had been a mama’s boy, but Linda had finally let go and allowed their son the freedom to find himself.

  “I guess she found herself, too,” Jim murmured. “At least she said she had after she started going to church with Beth Walters.” He set the photo album aside. Beth’s husband, Eric, had tried to befriend Jim after Linda died, but Jim didn’t want any
part of a holier-than-thou religious fanatic. He had let Jimmy continue to go to church because he’d promised Linda that he would, and for a while, Jim had gone to Jimmy’s church programs, but he didn’t care to go any further with religion.

  He reached for his bottle of beer and took a long drink, hoping it would help him relax.

  When he’d finished the beer, he leaned against the sofa, no longer in the mood for the chowder, which had now grown cold. A wave of heaviness settled on his shoulders like a five-gallon bucket of paint. Maybe when we finish the paint job we’re doing on the new grocery store across town, I’ll sit Jimmy down and tell him he’s adopted. I need all my workers for that job, and I won’t take the risk of Jimmy getting upset and walking out on me before it’s done.

  Leona eased onto the front-porch swing and tried to relax. It had been almost a week since she’d been hit in the face, and still her nose and one eye were swollen. She still had no glasses to wear, either. A new pair had been ordered from the optical shop in town, but they hadn’t come in. Even if they had, she knew she would never be able to put them on. Her nose was too sore, and there was so much inflammation.

  Cinnamon, the Irish setter Leona had been given for her twelfth birthday, moved closer to the swing and laid her head in Leona’s lap. It was as if the dog knew she needed sympathy, and Leona had always found comfort in being able to tell Cinnamon her troubles. Sometimes Mom accused her of caring more for the dog than she did for people, but Leona knew that wasn’t true. She simply liked being able to bare her soul to one who wouldn’t sit in judgment or tell her what to do.

  “You know whenever I need a listening ear, don’t you, girl?” Leona patted Cinnamon’s head and situated herself against the pillow she’d positioned in one corner of the wooden swing. She missed her students—missed teaching them and preparing for the last day of school when they would have a picnic on the lawn. Leona’s friend Mary Ann Fisher had been hired to take Leona’s place for the remaining weeks of the school year. That had worked out well for Mary Ann, since Anna Beechy had passed away three weeks ago, leaving Mary Ann without her job as Anna’s maid.