The Bishop's Daughter

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  After the buggy ride was over, Jimmy spent the next few hours driving along the back roads, taking pictures of barns, Amish men and boys working in the fields with their draft mules, and children playing in their yards.

  By late afternoon, he was tired, thirsty, and thoroughly discouraged, so he pulled into the parking lot of a place called Hoffmeirs’ General Store, hoping he might find something cold there to drink.

  Naomi was busy dusting empty shelves near the back of the store when she heard the bell above the front door jingle. Knowing that Caleb and the children had gone out to run an errand and hadn’t returned, she left her job and went to see who had come into the store. She discovered a young English man with light brown hair standing near the counter. “Can I help you?”

  He nodded. “I was wondering if you sell anything cold to drink in this store.”

  She shook her head. “Except for some candy, we don’t sell any food or drink items. I do have a few bottles of soda in the cooler I keep in the back room, though.”

  He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Would you be willing to sell me some of that? It’s awfully hot and humid today, and I could sure use something cold to drink.”

  “I’d be happy to give you some soda. So, if you’ll wait here, I’ll be right back.” Naomi hurried off, and a few minutes later, she returned with a bottle of orange soda, which she handed to him.

  “Thanks. What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She studied the man, thinking he looked kind of familiar and wondering if she had met him before. “Mind if I ask where you’re from?”

  “I grew up in Puyallup, Washington.” He took a drink and a dribble of orange liquid ran down his chin. He swiped it away with the back of his hand. “This is sure good.”

  “So, you’re from out West then?”

  He nodded and took another drink.

  Naomi’s thoughts went to her days of living in Oregon, and she reflected on how much she had missed her home and family during that stressful time. “Are you here on vacation?” she asked.

  “Kind of.” He finished the last of the soda and handed her the empty bottle. “Are you sure I can’t pay for this?”

  She shook her head. “No payment’s necessary. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  He ran his fingers through the back of his wavy hair and shuffled his feet a couple of times. It reminded her of the way Matthew acted whenever he was mulling things over.

  “I’ve been looking for a place that sells root beer, but I haven’t had any luck so far.”

  Naomi opened her mouth to tell him that the ice cream shop down the street sold several kinds of soda and made root beer floats, but she was interrupted when Leona Weaver entered the store with a Dahliapattern quilt draped over her arm.

  As Leona stepped into the Hoffmeirs’ store, she almost bumped into a young English man who stood near the front counter. He smiled. She returned the smile but then glanced quickly at Naomi, who stood nearby. “I came by to drop off a quilt my mamm finished for Abby. I also wanted to see if you’d gotten those rubber stamps in that you ordered for me awhile back. I’m planning to do some art projects with my students when we start back to school in August, and I thought I’d let them use the stamps.”

  “I’m expecting the order any day.” Naomi motioned toward the back of the store. “I’ve got a couple of empty shelves dusted and all ready for them.”

  Leona skirted around the Englisher and moved toward the connecting quilt shop. “Guess I’ll stop by another time to check on the stamps. Right now I need to give this quilt to Abby.”

  “Abby’s not there, but you can leave it on her desk; when I see her tomorrow, I’ll let her know it’s from your mamm.”

  “Where is Abby?”

  “She closed the shop for the rest of the day.”

  Leona halted. “How come?”

  “She had to take all five of her kinner to the dentist for checkups.”

  “What about Mary Ann? Isn’t she working today?”

  “I talked with Fannie earlier. Seems my little sister’s come down with the flu and is home in bed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear she’s grank. I’ll either stop by your folks’ place and check on her or drop by here again later in the week.”

  The Englisher cleared his throat, and both women turned around. “I didn’t realize you were still here,” Naomi said. “Did you need something else?”

  He shuffled his leather sandals across the wooden floor. “I just wanted to say thanks again for the pop—I mean, soda. It was real refreshing.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He started for the door but turned back around. “Say, I was wondering if you would know of anyone in the area who might be looking for a painter.”

  Before Naomi could respond, Leona stepped forward. “Have you had any experience?”

  He nodded. “My dad owns his own painting business in the state of Washington, and I’ve been working part-time for him since I turned sixteen. When I graduated from high school, I painted during the summer when I wasn’t taking classes at our local community college.”

  Leona took a few minutes to deliberate as she sized up the English man. He looked nice, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a light blue, short-sleeved shirt. There was something about his serious brown eyes and the way he smiled that made her believe he was trustworthy. “My daed—I mean, dad—owns his own business, too,” she said. “He mentioned the other day that he has a lot of work right now and might need to hire another painter.”

  The young man smiled. “Would you mind giving me the name of your dad’s business or tell me where I might meet him to talk about the possibility of a job?”

  “It’s called Weaver’s Painting, and I think Papa’s got his crew working on the outside of a restaurant down the street. So if you head over there now, you might catch him.”

  “What’s the name of the restaurant?”

  “Meyers’ Home Cooking. Just ask for Jacob Weaver—that’s my dad.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go there right away.”

  As Jimmy headed down the sidewalk toward the restaurant that the young Amish woman had mentioned, he was plagued with nagging doubts. How long would he stick around Lancaster County? Did he really need a job, or could he manage on the money he’d brought along? Was there even any point to him being here? Since he was here, and since he didn’t want to return to Washington without some definite answers, he may as well stay awhile and get to know the area. Besides, he found the Amish culture kind of interesting.

  Jimmy cleared his throat as he approached a middle-aged Amish man who knelt in front of a can of paint, stirring it with a flat stick. “Excuse me, but do you know where I might find Jacob Weaver?”

  The man squinted and tipped his head to one side. “I’m Jacob Weaver. Do I know you from somewhere?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “My name’s Jimmy Scott, and I’m looking for a job.”

  “As a painter?”

  “That’s right. I spoke to your daughter over at Hoffmeirs’ General Store, and she said you might be looking to hire someone.”

  Jacob placed the paint stick on the edge of the bucket and stood. “Have you had any experience?”

  Jimmy nodded. “My dad owns a paint contracting business out in Washington.”

  Jacob pursed his lips and stared at Jimmy. “So you’re not from around here, then?”

  “No, I came to Lancaster County to. . .”

  “Jacob, can you come here a minute?” A young Amish painter who was working nearby motioned to Jacob. “I’m having some problems getting this new paint to cover.”

  “Excuse me a minute.” Jacob nodded at Jimmy. “I’ll be right back.”

  Curious to see what the problem with the paint might be, Jimmy followed Jacob around the side of the building, where a couple of other Amish men stood painting with brushes.

  “It might go on better if you used a roller rather than the brushes,” he suggested
.

  “What makes you think so?” one of the fellows asked.

  “You can cover a larger area quicker using a roller instead of a brush.”

  Before the young Amish man could reply, Jacob stepped forward, placed one hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, and said, “Son, you’re hired.”

  Jim’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his belt clip and frowned. “Now what?” he mumbled with irritation. “If this phone keeps ringing, I’ll never get to the tavern. And it had better not be another disgruntled customer wondering why we haven’t started working on their house yet.” All morning, he’d had complaints, and he was tired of the interruptions. He hadn’t even left the job site yet because he kept getting phone calls.

  He checked the caller’s number showing in the screen on his phone. When he realized it was Jimmy, he answered right away. “Hi, Jimmy. I’m so glad you called. After our last conversation, I was afraid you might—”

  “I’m in Lancaster County, Dad,” Jimmy interrupted. “I’ve spent all day driving around looking for Amish farms selling root beer, but as you may have guessed, I haven’t found a one.”

  “Jimmy, I—”

  “You made that kidnapping story up, didn’t you?”

  “No, no, it’s the truth.” Jim leaned against the side of his van. “It took every ounce of courage for me to tell you the truth, Jimmy, and now that the story’s out, I’m really scared.”

  “Scared of what?”

  A trickle of sweat rolled down Jim’s forehead and dribbled onto his cheek. “If you find your Amish family and tell them who you are, they might press charges against me. I could end up in jail.”

  “Come on now, Dad.”

  “No, really. Why do you think I kept this story a secret all these years?”

  “Because you were afraid of going to jail?”

  “That’s right, and if your mother were still alive and knew about this, she’d be scared to death that if this leaks out I might be charged with kidnapping.”

  “What are you saying—that Mom didn’t know the adoption had fallen through or that you’d snatched an Amish baby out of his own backyard?” Jimmy’s tone was mocking, and Jim’s frustration escalated.

  “I couldn’t tell her. It would have broken her heart.”

  “So you just let her believe I was the one-year-old kid you had planned to adopt?”

  A muscle in Jim’s cheek quivered. “Right. I did it because I loved her and wanted to give her the child she’d been wanting for so long. And if you could have seen the expression on your mother’s face when I returned to the hotel with you in my arms, you’d know why I did it. She was ecstatic.”

  There was a long pause, and Jim wondered if Jimmy had hung up. “Jimmy? You still there?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I’m just trying to piece this all together. If you really did take me from an Amish farm, then I need to know exactly where it was.”

  “I—uh—I’m not sure where it was.” Jim opened the door to the van and climbed in. If Jimmy stayed in Amish country long enough, there was a good chance he might find his Amish family. And if that happened, Jim felt sure he would be arrested. Worse than that, Jimmy might never return to Washington. Jim had already lost his wife, and the thought of losing his son was almost unbearable. “When are you coming home, Jimmy?” he ventured to ask.

  “Look, Dad, I’m really not convinced that you’re telling me the truth, but I think I’ll stick around here awhile anyway.”

  “Do—do you need me to send you some money?”

  “No, I found a job today—working for an Amish painter.”

  Jim grimaced. “Why would you need a job? I just told you, I’ll send money if you need it.”

  “Working for Jacob Weaver will not only provide me with a paycheck, but it’ll give me the chance to get to know some of the Amish people. Maybe I’ll learn something that might lead me to my real family—if you’re telling the truth about that.”

  Jim massaged his throbbing temple. “How many times do I need to say it, Jimmy? I’m not lying—I kidnapped you from your Amish family, just like I told you yesterday when you called from Maryland.” He paused. “Uh, Jimmy—have you told anyone the reason you’re there?”

  “Not yet. It wouldn’t make much sense for me to walk up to some Amish man and blurt out, ‘Oh, and by the way, Jimmy Scott’s not my real name. I’m actually the kidnapped child of an Amish family who live somewhere in Lancaster County.’ ”

  “You’re right, it wouldn’t. Besides, they might not like you prying into their personal business. They may even think you’re a reporter trying to get a story on them or something, and I’m sure that wouldn’t be appreciated.”

  “I doubt they would think that. It isn’t likely that a reporter would take a job working as a painter, Dad.”

  Jim shifted the phone to his other ear. “What if you do find your real family and they have me arrested, Jimmy? What if I have to spend the rest of my life in jail?”

  “Listen, Dad, I’ve got to go. The battery on my phone is running low, and I need to get back to the B and B and get it charged.”

  “Okay, but listen, Jimmy—”

  The phone went dead, and Jim moaned as he leaned against his seat. A part of him wanted Jimmy to find his real family because it might relieve his guilt. But another part wished he could turn back the hands of time—back to the way things had been when Jimmy was a boy and knew nothing about his past.

  Jimmy had been working for Jacob Weaver a little over a week, and already he felt accepted by his easygoing boss. Jimmy was impressed with how well Jacob got along with all his employees—Amish and English alike.

  This morning, Jimmy had been asked to work with Eli Raber, one of Jacob’s young Amish painters. They were scheduled to begin painting a one-room schoolhouse in the area. Jacob said he was pleased to have another English painter working for him who owned a truck. That would make it even easier when he had equipment that needed to be hauled to the job sites.

  As the two young men headed down a narrow road, jostling up and down in Jimmy’s small pickup, Jimmy took the opportunity to get to know Eli better.

  “Have you been working for Jacob Weaver long?” he asked.

  “Started a year ago. How long have you been in Lancaster County?”

  “A little over a week. Got here a few days before Jacob hired me.” Jimmy turned on the air conditioning, noting that the cab of his truck had become stuffy on this warm, summer morning.

  “You just passin’ through, or are ya plannin’ to stick around?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “It all depends on how things go.”

  “You mean with your job?”

  “That and a few other things.”

  “Where you stayin’?”

  “At a bed-and-breakfast in Strasburg. But I’ll need to make other arrangements, since it looks like I might be here awhile.”

  “My folks have a trailer out behind our place that they’ve decided to rent. If you’re interested, you can come by after work and take a look.”

  Jimmy nodded. “That sounds good to me.”

  “I think you’ll enjoy workin’ for Jacob,” Eli said.

  “He seems like a nice man who is respected by his employees.”

  Eli nodded, and his blond hair bobbed up and down. “He’s highly thought of—not only as a paint contractor but also as the bishop of our community.”

  Jimmy’s mouth dropped open. “Jacob’s a bishop?”

  “Jah. Has been for a good many years.”

  “I didn’t realize Amish bishops worked as tradesmen.”

  “Some do. Others farm for a living.”

  “So they don’t get paid for their position in the church?”

  “Oh no. When they’re not fulfilling their preachin’ duties, they work, same as the rest of us Amish men do.”

  Jimmy pursed his lips. “Guess there’s a lot I don’t know about the Amish way of life. Would you be willing to teach me?”

  Eli smiled and nodded enthusiastically
. “Jah, sure. I’ll tell ya anything you wanna know.”

  When Leona heard a vehicle pull into the school yard, she glanced out the window. A small red truck was parked in the graveled lot, and two men were climbing out. She hurried to the other side of the schoolhouse and opened the door. She recognized one of the men as Eli Raber, who worked for her daed. Eli wore a pair of blue jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt, which was typical work attire for an Amish man who hadn’t yet joined the church. The other man was an Englisher, also dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt, but he wore a painter’s cap on his head. When the two men came up the walk, she realized that the Englisher was the same man she’d met at Caleb and Naomi’s store a week ago. Apparently, he’d taken her suggestion and asked her daed about a job. From the looks of the equipment she saw piled in the back of his pickup, he’d obviously been hired.

  “Wie geht’s, Leona?” Eli asked, stepping onto the porch.

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Feelin’ hot and sticky, but that’s to be expected for this time of the year.” He turned to the English man at his side. “This is Jimmy Scott. Your daed recently hired him, and we’ve come to paint the outside of the schoolhouse.”

  Leona nodded. “If Papa didn’t own his business, the schoolhouse would be painted by my students’ parents. But he figured his men could get the job done much quicker.”

  Jimmy smiled and reached out his hand to her. “We met at the general store in Paradise last week, remember?”

  “I do remember, and it’s nice to see you again,” she said, shaking his hand.

  “Thanks for suggesting I speak to your dad about a job. He hired me right away, and I really appreciate it.”

  Leona was about to comment when Eli said, “How come you’re at the schoolhouse today? I didn’t figure anyone would be around the place.”