“Don’t ya want the rest of your root beer?” the boy called after him.
“No thanks. I’m not thirsty anymore.” Maybe what I’d better do is call Dad again. If he really did kidnap me, then he’s got to give me some better answers. And if he’s made the whole story up, then he’d better tell me the truth.
Jimmy climbed into his truck and pushed his painter’s hat down on his head as he waited for Eli to come out of the house. A lot had changed for him in the last few weeks. Thanks to Eli’s parents, Jimmy now rented a small trailer at the back of their property. And because of his new friend’s patient teaching, he had learned a few words of Pennsylvania Dutch and was beginning to feel more comfortable with his surroundings here in Amish country. He and Eli had finished up the job on the schoolhouse a few weeks ago, and then, with the other men in Jacob’s crew, they had painted a couple of houses and the outside of a gift store in Lititz. Today they would begin work on Mark Stauffer’s barn.
Jimmy had learned from Eli that Mark was married to Nancy, one of Naomi Hoffmeir’s sisters. He’d been told that the couple had three children and lived next door to Mark’s folks, Elmer and Mandy. It seemed like everyone in this community was related somehow.
“Guder mariye,” Eli said, climbing into Jimmy’s pickup.
“Guder mariye to you, too.” Jimmy grinned. “Did I say ‘good morning’ right?”
Eli nodded. “You’re catchin’ on real good to the Deitsch.”
Feeling rather pleased with himself, Jimmy turned on the engine and steered his vehicle down the driveway. A short time later, they arrived at the Stauffers’ place.
Jimmy noticed right away that the barn had already been scraped and primed. With a crew of five painters working on the building, including the bishop, it should take them only a few days to complete the job.
Jacob gave everyone instructions, telling the men to begin work on the shaded side of the barn. He asked his son, Arthur, to work with Jimmy on the back side, while Eli and Richard painted the doors and trim around the windows.
“I’ll climb the forty-foot ladder and do the high spots,” Jacob announced. “That way, I can look down and see how things are goin’.”
“Why don’t you let me or one of the younger men do that, Pop?” Arthur suggested. “You’re gettin’ too old to be up on a tall ladder.”
Jacob leveled his son with a most determined look and shook his head. “I ain’t old, and since I’m the boss, I’ll decide who gets to do what.”
Jimmy bit back a chuckle and looked the other way. He got a kick out of the bishop’s spunky attitude. I’ll bet my dad will be that way when he gets to be Jacob’s age. He has always liked to be the one in control.
Thinking about Dad caused Jimmy to worry a bit. He’d tried several times in the last few days to reach his dad by phone, and all he ever got was the answering machine at home or voice mail on his cell. I hope he’s not on another drinking bender. If he is. . . Oh, man, I wish I’d thought to bring Ed’s number with me. Maybe I’ll give Allen a call when I get off work today and ask him to check up on Dad.
Jim rolled over in bed, grabbed the extra pillow beside his head, and covered his ears. Even so, his alarm clock continued to blare in his ear. He knew it was 6:00 a.m., and he also knew he was supposed to leave for work in one hour. But he didn’t know how he would make it. He’d been drinking steadily for nearly a week—sometimes not even bothering to come home at night. Last night, he’d finally sobered up enough to realize he needed a bath and a good night’s sleep, so he’d left his van parked at The Gold Fish Tavern and called a cab to take him home.
I’ve missed a week’s worth of work, too, he thought ruefully. But then I’m sure Ed’s been keeping our jobs going. He moaned and swung one leg, then the other, over the side of the bed. “Oh, my head’s killing me.”
Jim rubbed his blurry eyes, and as his vision began to focus, his gaze came to rest on the picture sitting on the dresser across the room. It was the last picture of Jim, Linda, and Jimmy together, taken a year before Linda died.
He grimaced, remembering how he’d put up a fuss when Linda told him about the appointment she’d made with the portrait studio across town. He’d said he was too busy to go but had finally relented when Linda reminded him that she might not have much longer to live. “I was such a lousy husband. Never could do anything right, and I guess I still can’t.”
He thought of all the times Linda had tried to get him to go to church, and how her friends, Beth and Eric Walters, had attempted to be his friend after she’d died. But he’d continued to reject all forms of religion, and he sure didn’t need any Bible-thumping friends of Linda’s to hold his hand.
A feeling of sadness and deep regret swept over him like a heavy fog as he thought about Jimmy and how he had failed him, too. If I hadn’t kidnapped the boy when he was a baby, he wouldn’t be on a quest to find his rightful heritage now, and I wouldn’t have to worry about the possibility of going to jail.
Jim stood on rubbery legs and ambled across the room toward his closet. I don’t care whether he believes me about the kidnapping or not. Maybe if he thinks I made up the whole story, he’ll stop searching for his real parents and come home.
Feeling the need for some kind of comfort, he halted when he reached his dresser and grabbed the half-empty bottle of beer he’d left sitting there the night before. “At least I’ve got one friend I can count on,” he mumbled as he lifted the bottle to his parched lips.
As Leona drove her horse and buggy down Harristown Road toward Nancy and Mark Stauffer’s place, the sounds of summer engulfed her. The buzz of insects, the click-click-click of sprinklers, and the continual chirp of birds overhead—all brought a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced in many days.
She thought about the conversation she’d had with Naomi when she stopped by Hoffmeirs’ General Store yesterday afternoon. Naomi had mentioned that things were still strained between her and her daed, and she said she was sure that, even though many years ago Abraham had said he’d forgiven her for leaving Zach alone, he’d never truly let it go.
“So much pain and distress some people must endure.” She inhaled deeply, savoring the pleasant aroma of freshly cut hay. Then she glanced across the road to see where the smell came from. There she spotted the newly mowed field bordering the Stauffers’ place, and in the distance, she could see their stately white house with the faded red barn sitting behind it.
As Leona drew closer, she caught sight of Papa’s crew painting on one side of the barn. She directed the horse onto the graveled driveway and stopped near the house where there would be less chance of getting paint on the buggy.
Jimmy waved to her, and she lifted her hand in response. Then she climbed down from the buggy, secured the horse to a maple tree, and headed for the barn.
“What brings you over here today?” Jimmy asked as she drew near.
“I brought my daed’s lunch. He left it on the kitchen counter when he went to work this morning.”
“Pop must have been in a hurry to get over here and begin working on Mark’s barn,” Arthur interjected as he came around the corner carrying a bucket of paint.
“I think so,” Leona said with a nod. “Where is our daed, anyhow?”
Arthur turned and pointed to a ladder leaning against one side of the barn. “Up there.”
Leona shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun and tipped her head to get a better look. There stood Papa on the third-to-the-last rung of the ladder with his paintbrush zipping back and forth faster than she could blink. She sucked in her breath. “Ach, my! He shouldn’t be on that tall ladder.”
“He insisted on doing the high painting,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he reminded me, like always, that he’s the boss.”
Leona knew how stubborn her daed could be when it came to anyone telling him how to run his business—including his only son.
“Jacob’s doing fine so far.” Jimmy’s long legs fill
ed the space between them. “I’m sure he would have let one of the younger men do the high painting if he didn’t think he was capable of doing it himself.”
Leona looked over at Jimmy and was about to comment when her daed hollered down, “Can someone run up to the house and see if Nancy’s got some weschp spray? There’s a wasp’s nest up here, and some of them critters have been buzzin’ me real good.” The ladder wobbled as he lifted his straw hat from his head and waved it in the air. “Get away from me, you crazy weschp!”
“Be careful, Papa, the ladder is—” Leona gasped as the ladder lurched and her daed lost his grip, falling straight to the ground.
Every man dropped his brush and rushed to their boss’s side, but Leona just stood there, too numb to move.
“Pop! Can ya hear me?” Arthur looked at Leona with a pained expression. “He’s out cold, and there’s blood coming out of his ears. Someone with a cell phone had better call 9-1-1!”
Dear Lord, why did You allow such a terrible thing to happen? How will we ever get through this?” Leona lamented as she stood in front of her bedroom window and stared out at the gray skies. It had been raining steadily since yesterday evening. Leona was exhausted, and her eyes burned from lack of sleep. The dismal, dark clouds that hid the sun matched her melancholy mood to a T this morning. She leaned against the window casing, tears coursing down her cheeks as she thought about that fateful morning two weeks ago when their lives had been changed in one split second—the moment Papa took his hand off the ladder to swat at a buzzing wasp. Jimmy Scott had been the one to call for help, using his cell phone. Then he’d covered her daed with a blanket and instructed everyone not to move him. After the ambulance took Papa away, Jimmy had given Leona, her mother, and her brother a ride to the hospital. The rest of the day had been spent waiting and praying for some word on Papa’s condition. Leona’s two older sisters, who lived in Kentucky, had been notified and said they would come as soon as they were able to secure transportation. Jimmy had remained at Leona’s side the entire day, although she barely remembered anything he’d said to her.
Leona closed her eyes as she relived that day in the hospital, after all the tests had been done and the doctor had taken the family aside to give them his prognosis. . .
“Jacob has had a severe trauma to the brain, and there’s a good deal of swelling,” Dr. Collins told the family as they stood just inside the door of Papa’s room. “Amazingly enough, he has no broken bones—just scrapes and bruises on his arms and legs, but the blow to his head seems to have caused an acute memory lapse that has taken him all the way back to his childhood.”
“Will my husband ever be the same?” Mom asked as she clutched the doctor’s arm. “Please say he will recover from this.”
Dr. Collins’s gaze went to Papa lying in the bed with his eyes closed. Then he looked back at Leona’s mamm. “There’s no way of knowing at this point, Mrs. Weaver. Once the swelling goes down, Jacob could regain all or part of his memory. Or he might remain this way for the rest of his life.”
“We need to pray for a miracle,” Arthur interjected. “Jah, that’s what we surely need.”
Mom nodded as tears matted her lashes and trickled onto her cheeks. “God is able to do all things, and if it’s His will, then He’ll make my husband whole again.”
Leona leaned against the wall with her arms folded and her lips pressed together, her eyes closed. God, You could have prevented this from happening. Why didn’t You? Don’t You care about Papa? Doesn’t it matter that he is Your servant and so many people depend on him?
“Jacob will need to go through some therapy here at the hospital before he’s released,” Dr. Collins continued. “And of course, there are things you can do at home to help him adjust.”
Mom nodded once more. “We’ll do all we can.”
Leona clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. Adjust? How can my daed adjust to anything when he thinks he’s a little boy?
Leona shuddered and moved away from the window, allowing her thoughts to return to the present. She was thankful Papa was alive. However, the thought of him spending the rest of his days as a child in a man’s body was unthinkable. How could he run his painting business or do the chores he normally did around their place? And what of his position as bishop? He could hardly preach or minister to the people if he thought like a child. Poor, confused Papa didn’t know he’d ever been their bishop or that he owned a successful painting business. He thought his wife was his mamm, and he believed Leona and her brother were his siblings. He hadn’t known his oldest daughters, Peggy or Rebecca, at all when they’d come to visit soon after the accident.
Leona held her arms rigid at her side. Resentment welled up in her soul like a cancer. She fought the churning sensation in her stomach. Unless God provides a miracle, Papa might never know any of us again. She stumbled across the room, flopped onto her bed, and covered her mouth in an effort to stop the tears. It isn’t fair. This terrible tragedy never should have happened!
Jimmy had just stepped out of his truck and placed a bucket of paint on the porch of Norman Fisher’s house when his cell phone rang. He removed it from the clip on his belt and lifted it to his ear. “Hello.”
“Hi, Jimmy, it’s Dad. I—I haven’t heard from you in a while, and I was getting worried.”
“You were worried? Do you know how many times I’ve tried to call you? And all I ever got was the answering machine at home or your voice mail on the cell.”
“Sorry, but I wasn’t up to taking any calls.”
“Have you been sick?”
“Yeah—well, sort of.”
Jimmy groaned. “You’ve been on another drinking spree, haven’t you, Dad?”
“So what if I have? It’s my life, and I don’t need you or Ed telling me what to do.”
Jimmy knew Dad’s foreman was aware of his drinking problem, and he figured Ed might be getting tired of covering for Dad and had probably given him a lecture about how he might lose his business if he didn’t straighten up. Guess there’s not much point in me doing the same, because it’s obvious that he isn’t going to listen. Maybe Allen was right when he said Dad might have to hit rock bottom before he ever admits he has a problem or is willing to seek help.
“Are you still there, Jimmy?”
“I’m here.”
“How are things going? Have you found your Amish family yet?”
“No, but I did find an Amish farm selling root beer, and the kid looked at me like I was nuts when I asked about a stolen baby.”
“You must have been at the wrong place.”
“Yeah, well, what’s the right place, Dad?”
“I—I don’t know. I told you before that I was almost in a daze that day, and I don’t remember what road I was on, or even what part of Lancaster County I was in.”
“Are you sure you’re not making this story up to confuse me?”
“Why would I do that? I put my neck in the noose when I admitted that I’d kidnapped you.” There was a pause, and he added, “I—I’ve been keeping this secret for twenty years, Jimmy, and it’s taken a toll on me.”
“On you? What about the family you took me from?” Jimmy’s own words echoed in his head as he allowed the truth to sink in. Dad really did kidnap me. He wouldn’t be so worried about going to jail if he hadn’t committed the crime, and he wouldn’t be going on long drinking benders if he wasn’t dealing with guilt and fear.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” he squeaked. “You stole me from an Amish farm twenty years ago.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I—I did it for your mom. I did it because I thought it was meant to be.”
“How could stealing a child ever be right or ‘meant to be’?” Jimmy’s voice shook with unbridled emotion as he struggled with the anger he felt toward the man he’d thought, all but the past few weeks of his life, was his dad.
“Wh–what are you going to—to do, Jimmy?” Dad’s tone sounded desperat
e, and his words were shaky.
“I’m going to stick around Lancaster County awhile longer.”
“To look for your family?”
“That and to help the Weaver family.”
“Who is this Weaver family, and why do they need your help?”
Jimmy quickly shared the story of how Jacob had fallen off the ladder and how his head injury had left him with amnesia. “Jacob’s home from the hospital now,” he ended by saying. “And since his son wants me to keep painting for them, I’ll be around to help the Weaver family deal with Jacob’s injury.” Jimmy pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
“So this is the Amish fella who hired you to paint for him?”
“Right. The doctor told Jacob’s family that, short of a miracle, he might never fully recover.”
“That’s too bad, Jimmy. You’re a good kid for wanting to help.”
“I’m not a kid anymore. I just turned twenty-one, remember?” A sudden, sinking feeling hit Jimmy with such force he thought he might topple over. “You don’t even really know how old I am or when I was born, do you, Dad?”
“I—I don’t know the exact day you were born, but your Amish sister said you had recently turned one, so when I had your phony birth certificate made up, I asked my friend to give you an April birthday.”
Phony birth certificate? A made-up April birthday? Jimmy sank to the grass. This whole kidnapping thing was getting thicker and sicker. He gave his forehead another swipe with the rag. “Listen, I—uh—need to get back to work.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you again soon, son.”
Jimmy clicked off the phone without even saying good-bye.
“I don’t see why we had to tag along with you this morning,” Titus complained from his seat at the back of Abraham’s buggy. “Shouldn’t we be helpin’ our older brothers work in the fields today?”
The Bishop's Daughter Page 14
