“Marla,” he said, “I was tired from the trip and said things I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
She sniffed and nodded, then slid off the bed to have her bath and do her nightly beauty regimen. He went to his dresser to get his pajamas and found his things shoved over to one side. That was so like Marla—trying to eke out a little more room for her possessions. Ever since she’d moved in, there were times when he felt like the space he controlled within his own apartment was diminishing rapidly. Truth be told, being able to spread out in the farmhouse had felt nice.
He went to his closet to hang up his clothes and found that his suits had also been shoved to one side. This seemed a little strange, considering that Marla had already taken over the entire master closet, which she guarded like a pit bull.
Worn out from the drive, and the fight, he fell asleep long before Marla completed her nightly beauty ritual.
chapter EIGHTEEN
One of the pleasures and banes of Amish existence was hosting church services at one’s home at least once a year. A family cleaned out barns, homes, workshops, basements—wherever there was space to seat upward of two hundred people on backless benches.
Under normal circumstances, it would soon be Hope’s turn. Unfortunately, these were not normal circumstances and she was worried. The house she and Titus had rented last year was small, but it was all they could afford. The maximum she could seat in her living room was maybe thirty people. The barn was old and decrepit. There was no basement beneath her house.
Titus had intended to build a workshop this winter large enough to hold everyone, but that had not happened, for obvious reasons. She was grateful he’d not gotten around to it before he died or she would be saddled with a debt she couldn’t pay. That was one of the problems with the Amish dependence on home church services—couples often felt forced to go into debt for a building they could not afford and did not really need except for hosting church obligations.
Hope had heard of an Old Order Amish church that had recently built what they called a “community building” to take this burden off their young families—but they were being criticized for it, and some now accused them of being New Order Amish for taking that extreme step.
There was a lot to be said for the fellowship a church enjoyed when they were packed together inside one another’s homes every other Sunday, but with the prices of homes being what they were these days, it was becoming more and more of a financial burden on their people.
Young couples were usually given a pass for a year or two until they could get settled, but there always came a time when an Amish family had to start taking their turn or deal with the annoyance of other members who were shouldering the responsibility for them.
As a widow, she knew she wouldn’t necessarily be expected to host right now, but there was a stubborn streak in her, and she was determined to find a way. Perhaps she could rent a wedding tent for a day if the weather was fine . . .
“Is everything okay?” Logan was lying on his stomach on the living room floor, playing tractors with Adam. He and Adam had built a road with ramps from a pile of old books and her son was loving every minute.
She had grown comfortable with having Logan around while she worked and considered him a decent, caring man. In fact, as her pregnancy progressed, he had surprised her by growing quite solicitous. She suspected he made sure he was around when she came each day, just so he would be on hand if she needed him to lift something heavy.
This was not behavior she was used to. Titus was a good husband, but he considered childbirth an everyday thing, and tended to treat her exactly the same as when she wasn’t pregnant. She would never have admitted it, but having Logan worry a little about her was . . . nice.
Maybe a little too nice.
She still missed Titus terribly, and cried at night when the children were asleep. But as she watched Logan racing his toy tractor along the makeshift book-road, entertaining Adam while she and Carrie worked in the kitchen, a stab of longing came over her.
She had thought him nice-looking the first time she met him, but as she had gotten to know him better, he’d become more and more handsome to her. Funny how that was.
He was so different from the Amish men she’d known, and not in a particularly good way. He was useless when it came to repairs, or carpentry, or anything else an Amish man would consider of importance. He knew nothing about livestock, or seed and harvest.
What she found attractive about him was the way he treated her. It was as though he thought she was as smart as he was, or smarter. He asked her opinion about things, and then pondered the things she said, as though they had weight. He questioned her about her people and beliefs and treated the things she told him with respect.
Sometimes he bought thoughtful toys for the children. Like this new set of tractors. He seemed to know better than to buy Adam little automobiles.
There were moments when he looked at her, when her children were doing something especially clever, and their eyes would meet and it was as though he was sharing in her pride in them.
She hated to judge anyone, but in her opinion, his wife was a very foolish woman not to move here. Unfortunately, she was beginning to fear that she might be equally foolish for continuing to work for a man she found so . . . likable.
“Are you okay?” Logan repeated.
“Yes,” she said. “Everything is fine.”
“You’ve been standing there staring at the living room for an awfully long time. That’s the same look Marla gets right before she hires painters to come repaint our apartment. What are you thinking?”
“Actually, I was thinking about church. My turn is coming up soon to host it, and I was wondering about renting a tent. Do you have any idea how much they cost?”
“I don’t. But what does that have to do with my living room?”
“Not a thing. I was just remembering how nice it was when we had church here with enough space to seat a couple hundred people.”
He glanced around the room. “It’s a nice-sized room, but it isn’t that big.”
“Do you see this wall here?” She pointed to the one separating the room from the kitchen. “It can be moved. That’s what we always did. Daed would move the wall back and open up a space large enough to seat everyone.”
“Then why don’t you just have church here?” he said.
“Here?”
“Why not?” He shrugged and went back to playing with Adam.
She tapped a finger against her lower lip, considering the possibilities. Having church here was not something she would ever have asked for, but it could be a solution. It would most definitely be a much cheaper solution than renting a tent.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” she asked.
“Of course not,” he said. “I’ll stay away if you need me to.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I would never ask you to leave your home. I’m sure the bishop would allow you to stay if you wanted.” This would be a wonderful answer to her problem. “You’re sure?”
“I’m absolutely sure,” he said. “I can’t wait to see two hundred Amish people inside my house. Will we need to rent chairs?”
“No,” she replied. “The church has benches the men will bring and set up, and the wraparound porch is perfect for laying out the food afterward. You won’t have to do a thing.”
“It’s settled, then.”
“Do you mind if we use the barn for the horses?”
“Hope,” he said, “use whatever you want. You know a lot more about what your church needs than I do.”
“My people will help me get ready.”
“You do realize that other religions just show up at a church building, right?”
“Those other people aren’t Amish. The harder it is for us, the more we think God likes it,” she joked.
She turned to her daughter. “Come, Carrie. I’ll need to make a list of everything that will need to be done.”
With Carrie holding her hand,
she went to check out the barn. She might need to bring in some hay. As they approached, she heard a noise that sounded like a low moan. Logan had no livestock so there shouldn’t be any sounds coming from there. Perhaps a wounded stray dog had gotten in. She would have to be careful.
She made Carrie stand back while she opened the door. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness of the large, empty barn, but when they did, what she saw was appalling. Simon Hochstetler, the older teenage boy who had done some work for her father the past two summers, sat hunched over in a corner, his arms around his legs. It looked as though he had been badly beaten.
“Simon?” she asked. “Is that you?”
“Ja.”
After one glance at his face, she turned her daughter’s eyes away from the young man. “Carrie, run to the house and tell Logan to come quick.”
She watched as the child scurried up the hill. Then she rushed over to Simon, fell to her knees, and examined the bruises on his face, arms, and neck. “Who did this to you?”
“Daed.”
“Your father?” Hope felt a lump come to her throat. “No one deserves to be treated like this. Certainly not a good boy like you, but why come here?”
“I thought the Englisch man might not come to the barn—not like Amish men who are always there.” He hid his bruised face in his arms. “I am ashamed. I did not want anyone to see.”
She thought her heart would break. This gentle seventeen-year-old boy had often helped her father put up hay and do chores around the farm. He had such a gentle way with their animals, she had always had a soft spot for him.
“Tell me what happened, Simon.”
“I had our horse team out, getting them conditioned for spring plowing. One of them got spooked. Both tore away from me and went through a fence. I could not stop them. I tried.”
“Did you get the team back?”
“I did, and I fixed the fence, too, but the mare’s leg is bad swollen and the gelding is limping.”
Getting the crops in was nearly a matter of life or death for the Swartzentruber Amish. More than any other Amish sect, they made their living from farming, supplementing their income with handwoven baskets or carpentry. Still, she could not understand why Simon’s father would beat him for something he could not control.
“So he beat you because he thinks you were responsible for two horses going lame?”
The boy wiped his nose and nodded. “And Maam’s having another baby.”
“Ah.” That would make nineteen children in Simon’s family, a family that was already impoverished. Did Simon’s father not know how babies got here?
“I thought he would kill me.” Simon choked out another involuntary sob. “Wilma got between us and told me to run.”
Wilma? Hope tried to remember all the children of that family. She was pretty certain that Wilma was the eldest, about twenty or twenty-one.
“Is Wilma in danger?” she asked. “Will he do this to her?”
“He about wore himself out hitting me.” Simon shook his head. “She’ll probably just get a few good slaps.”
The commonplace tone of his voice gave Hope chills. This must be a fairly common occurrence.
“Does your Daed hit you a lot?”
“Got to keep us respectful, Daed says.”
Hope had never liked Moses Hochstetler. When Simon had worked for her father, Moses always came and collected his son’s wages, as though he did not trust the boy to turn them over to him. He always refused to do business with her or her mother if Henry happened to be gone. Still, she never dreamed he could be this brutal.
“What’s going on?” Logan came rushing to the barn at a dead run, Adam in his arms, Carrie running behind. “Are you okay? Carrie grabbed my hand and told me to kommen. I figured that meant ‘come.’ ”
In her shock over Simon’s condition, Hope had momentarily forgotten that at five, Carrie would not have the English words to give Logan her message. Hope switched from English to German so easily, she was barely aware she was doing it. Fortunately, the little girl had gotten her point across anyway.
“We have a visitor, Logan, and I think he might need medical attention.”
Simon looked scared. “Daed doesn’t allow doctor bills.”
“Can you walk?” Logan asked. She saw a look of recognition in his eyes. She realized Logan must have met Simon while the boy was out peddling firewood.
“I made it here.” Simon stood up and took a couple steps to prove it. Then he staggered and nearly fell. Logan caught him with one arm while holding Adam with the other.
“I’m calling the police,” Logan said.
“No!” Simon sounded terrified. “Daed will kill me!”
“I’m calling an ambulance.” Logan sat Adam down and pulled out his ever-present cell phone.
“Not yet. Let’s take him up to the house,” Hope said. “I want to clean him up and see how bad it is first. Then we’ll decide what to do.”
“I forgot,” Logan said. “No medical insurance. But isn’t there a church fund of some kind?”
“The Swartzentruber churches are much poorer than the Old Order Amish. Paying for an ambulance and emergency room visit could take everything their church has. Let me check him out first, and if necessary, we’ll call Grace.”
As Hope expected, the boy’s cuts and bruises were bad, but they were not life-threatening. Logan gathered together some of his clothes for Simon to wear and she ran bathwater for the injured boy.
Adam watched it all with wide blue eyes. “Simon is hurt?”
“Simon’s hurt,” Hope said, “but he will get better.”
While Simon was in the bathroom, Hope and Logan stood in the hallway outside the bathroom door and debated what to do.
“I still think we should call the police,” Logan said. “Who does that to a kid?”
“I know,” Hope said. “But you don’t understand what a tightrope some of the Swartzentruber Amish families walk or the kind of stress the fathers are under. Those two horses that were made lame? If they don’t get better soon, they could make the difference between the children eating well this winter or having empty bellies. A good plow horse is worth a lot of money. Moses probably just snapped from stress and frustration.”
“And the fact that his wife is pregnant with her nineteenth child! Who does that!”
“The Swartzentrubers live on farms and have huge families. Extra hands mean more help on the farm, just like it used to for your Englisch ancestors as well as ours.”
“I don’t understand,” Logan said. “You talk about the Swartzentruber Amish as though they are from a different culture, and yet they are Amish—like you.”
“The Swartzentruber Amish make the Old Order Amish look like . . . like we are modern people.” Hope smiled sadly. “I know that is hard for you to understand, but it is true.”
“So Simon’s father gets by with this behavior? No police are called?”
“The police probably would not be able to do much anyway. Simon would never testify against his father. He would only tell the police that he got kicked by a horse or something. A policeman is like a person from another country to them.”
“Then what can we do?”
“I’ll talk to my father. He likes Simon and will be upset at what has happened. He will pay a visit to Simon’s bishop. The bishop will look into the condition of the family and see what can be done. The bishop’s word will be more effective than anything you or I can do. It will be more effective than anything the police might do as well.”
“How about if we leave your father out of it and I go to see the bishop. I’m the one who saw that boy tonight and the shape he was in.”
“An outsider like you?” She shook her head. “No, it is better handled by my father.” A sound of singing and splashing came from inside the bathroom.
“For someone as beat up as Simon, he certainly seems to be enjoying his bath!” Logan said.
There was the sound of more
water being run into the tub, and more splashing.
“It’s probably the first time he’s ever gotten to take a real bath in a bathtub. The Swartzentruber do not allow running water or indoor toilets.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I am not.”
“So what do we do with him after he comes out?”
“Do you mind if he stays here for the night?” Hope asked. “I know him well. He is quite harmless and you have extra beds. I think it would be best to give his father time to cool off.”
“Of course he can stay here. He can stay as long as he likes. It’s a big house.”
A few minutes later, Simon came out of the bathroom, announcing, “I’m done,” carefully dressed in Logan’s clothes. He was shorter and had to roll his pants legs up, but he’d tucked in the shirt, which was also too large, and tightly cinched the waist of the chinos with the belt Logan had loaned him. His hair was plastered down, and he’d been liberal with Logan’s shaving lotion.
His face, however, looked like it had been used as a punching bag. One eye was swollen entirely shut. Hope saw that Simon, in spite of his pain, had tried to leave the bathroom clean. Two damp towels were neatly folded over the edge of the bathtub. It tugged at her heart that the battered boy had tried to tidy the bathroom.
“Are you hungry?” Hope asked.
“I can always eat.” Simon rubbed his stomach. “It’s a little hard to get filled up at my house.”
“Then we will see if we can find you something,” Hope said.
“You’ve already cleaned the kitchen, Hope,” Logan said. “And Simon and I met a few weeks ago when he brought firewood. I’ve seen how much the boy can pack away. Instead of you cooking again, how about I pick up some pizza? Does that sound good to either of you?”
“Pizza?” As much as possible with the bruises, Simon’s face lit up. “I like pizza!”
Hope knew he probably rarely got it, too. Take-out pizza was far too expensive for a large Swartzentruber family to purchase often.
Fearless Hope: A Novel Page 15
