With one last slap on the back, he climbed back into his buggy and turned toward home. Jacob picked up his bag and walked up the steps of the dry goods store. The clerk greeted him by name, which wasn’t much of a surprise given the lack of business.
“Where would you like a ticket to?”
Now that was a very good question.
He hadn’t given it too much thought. He’d even pretended he might stay. But as soon as that thought entered his head the restlessness growled in his stomach. “Whatcha got?”
The old man ducked his head and looked at him over his reading glasses. “Can you give me a direction?”
There was no use going back north. The harvesting season was done there and there would be little or no work. He pointed to a spot on the map.
“South, it is.” The clerk printed out a ticket and told him the amount. After depositing the money in his cash drawer, he passed the ticket over the counter.
It was a transaction Jacob had made dozens of times, and it never failed to produce a smile. He reached down, unzipped his bag, and extracted the paperback he was only halfway through. He placed the ticket as a marker in the book.
Thanking the clerk, he made his way outside.
Twenty minutes until the bus arrived. Enough time to lose himself in the history of the Dakotas. And why would he be reading a book about a place he was leaving? That irony wasn’t lost on him, but he’d always been a reader. Another trait not prevalent among Amish men, but then as his mother had pointed out, “Gotte made you to be the person you are, Jacob. Sure, sin should be fought against, and I trust you will. But your personality and interests? Gotte gave you those, son. Never be ashamed of who or what you are.”
The words eased some of the questions in his heart.
While most of the people he met—and certainly those he worked for—didn’t understand his need to move on, he had the blessing of those who mattered most. His family back in Clymer, New York, had always accepted that he was a bit different. Though his six brothers teased him about it, they also were supportive, suggesting he “get it out of his system” while he could. Whatever that meant. His dad was less understanding but not one to argue. Instead, he assured Jacob that a place would be waiting for him when he returned.
By the time the bus arrived, he was deep into the history of the Dakota Territory, the geography of its black hills, and the Sioux Indians who had lived there long before any white men, let alone Amish, set foot in the area.
As he boarded the bus, he quietly took inventory of the other passengers. He’d been traveling for three years now, ever since his twenty-third birthday. It had always amused him the type of people who still used the bus system. Perhaps it was different in a large urban area, but for cross-country? He’d counted five groups.
There were the poor who couldn’t afford private transportation, let alone airfare. Second, he could always count on a few older folks—sometimes couples, sometimes alone. Several had shared with him that they couldn’t abide flying, and others had admitted they had grown up riding the bus system and preferred it. The third group was the most troublesome for Jacob—the homeless. Not well washed, they always wore a hungry look, and their eyes darted about constantly. What would cause a person to take to the roads when they had nowhere else to live? Wouldn’t it be better to live within a community? To have the support and help of a shared group of family and friends?
He supposed the same questions could be asked of him. The difference was that he had a place if he ever chose to settle there.
The fourth group he saw on most trips, though certainly not all. He’d first sat beside a military person on the bus from Pennsylvania to New York. He knew they were military not because they were in uniform—usually they weren’t—but because of the short haircuts and the closed down expressions. Polite, they remained distant and offered little in the way of details or conversation.
Then there were the Amish. One bus he’d taken out of Sugar Creek had been nearly all Amish. He supposed the driver was used to it as he’d greeted them with a robust “Gudemariye.” These folks were usually on their way to a well-earned vacation or family visit in another part of the country. Occasionally, he’d met someone like himself, someone who traveled for the joy of it.
Jacob claimed a seat halfway back and set his bag on the empty spot next to him. Matthew’s wife had packed him a lunch, and he was tempted to open it up even though it was only nine in the morning. Best to wait. He had a long ride ahead of him.
CHAPTER 7
Anna was astonished at how the look and feel of her onkel’s farm changed over the next week. She’d walked the corn maze on the north side of the house many times in the last few months, taking her time as she investigated the paths and explored the borders, and she’d even walked down the two-lane road to see what it looked like from that side. When she’d arrived in the middle of the summer, the corn was no more than waist high, but now it towered far above her, golden husks waving in the September breeze. The maze looked like a different place entirely, a hidden path to an unknown destination.
Actually, it only went round and round with various twists and turns, ending on the far side of the field—the side closest to the Millers’ property.
Friday morning Anna walked to her booth in a bit of a daze. The booth had been moved closer to the house, and the yard was filled with people. She hadn’t realized that so many from the community joined in with the weekend’s festivities, but then she’d never spent a fall in Oklahoma before.
The Millers, who had three children under four years old, brought bales of hay and set them up in a kiddie maze on the south side of the house. Other families from their church brought items to be sold in Anna’s booth, and soon it was filled with fruit pies, loaves of bread, and cookies baked fresh by the women in their district.
“How will I ever keep it all straight?” she asked Mammi.
“No worries. Each woman takes turns working in the booth, and we keep a tablet with everyone’s name on it.” Mammi reached under the counter and found the tablet and pen. How had Anna not noticed that before? But then she hadn’t needed it. The produce she’d sold had been from Onkel Samuel’s field. There’d been no need to keep track of money or items.
“Write down the amount of each sale and who brought the item.” Mammi held up a jar of preserved okra. “See? A name is written on the labels.”
Anna glanced up when she sensed even more activity across from where they sat. Neal and Adam waved at her as they finished setting up the refreshment booth, which was directly across the large front yard. According to the sign they put in front of it, there would be hot cider, coffee, hot chocolate, and fresh-squeezed lemonade.
Even Levi Troyer, their bishop, participated. When Anna had first arrived in the district, she’d been surprised to see that the bishop was handicapped, but she quickly learned his limp didn’t slow Levi down much. He needed a cane to walk, and the injury he’d suffered still seemed to cause him some pain, but she’d never heard him complain about it.
He’d shown up the previous afternoon with two goats, a small donkey, three sheep, and a chicken. Levi was also their neighbor. His place was to the east. Though his children were grown and scattered throughout the district, the oldest son had remained home and raised his family there. Anna had been over to their place several times, and always there were children and grandchildren about.
He’d walked the animals over with the help of some of his grandchildren. The goats, donkey, and sheep each had a lead rope tied around them, but one of his granddaughters carried the chicken. They looked like a traveling farm.
“For the petting zoo,” he explained with a wink. And indeed, two more men from their church soon arrived with a makeshift pen and a pony.
“I’m overwhelmed,” Anna admitted to Mammi. But she was also excited. Who wouldn’t be? This was the most activity she had seen in months.
“You thought we were only having a walk through the corn?” Mammi sat on one
of the chairs inside the produce stand. Though the morning was warm, she wore a long-sleeved dress. Her grandmother was obviously enjoying herself. It occurred to Anna that this was a precious memory she would look back on for years to come.
“Why does he do it, Mammi?”
“He?”
“Onkel Samuel.”
“He does it because I ask him to.” Mammi patted her arm, and added, “This was something your grossdaddi started years ago.”
Her grossdaddi? Hadn’t Rebecca said that Menno Schwartz was as serious as his sons? She could hardly picture him planning a fall festival on his land, and this was definitely turning into quite the celebration.
“He also did it because I asked. You see, Anna, I grew up on a farm back in Goshen. Back in the day when land was plentiful and roads were few. My parents would have two weekends in September where they invited anyone who would come out to their farm to celebrate Gotte’s goodness. Each year something else was added. What started as a simple maze for children to meander through became much more. Members from our church district began to participate until finally it was much like what you see here.”
“This was in Goshen?”
“Ya. It was a time we used to thank the Lord together. We celebrated the harvest. Even when there was drought or floods or war, we held the festival. Even when the harvest was less than we hoped, we thanked the Lord. It became a tradition that was dear to me.” Mammi seemed lost in thought for a moment, lost in memories of long ago. “Not long after I married Menno, my parents were killed in a buggy accident.”
Mammi reached under her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. Anna thought she was crying, but Mammi repositioned the glasses and smiled at her—clear blue eyes and wrinkles fanning out in every direction. “My heart was broken. I did not understand then that Gotte has His reasons. For months I went through the motions, feeling nothing, saying little. Three weeks before the harvest, Menno asked me what he could do, how he could comfort me.”
Anna turned her back to the activity in the yard and focused completely on her grandmother. “What did you say?”
“I asked him to hold the harvest celebration as a way to remember my mamm and dat. Menno, he was a solemn thing, much like my sons. But he loved me. Ya, he would have done anything to ease the pain in my heart.”
“And the festival did that?”
“Nein. Not the first year or even the second. But eventually the memories of my parents and the smiles of the children eased my pain. Each fall I found myself looking forward to those weekends when it seemed I could hear their laughter again.”
“The harvest celebration healed you.”
“The Lord did that, Anna. He brought the harvest. I was able to be thankful again, and gratitude will bring healing every time.”
“I don’t remember having any harvest celebration in Goshen.”
“You were a babe the last time. When we moved here, we brought the tradition with us. Samuel continues it to honor his father’s memory and because he knows it is important to me.”
“And now Amish and Englischers come.”
“Ya. It seems that at various points our lives do intersect, even though we strive to be separate. It’s a gut thing to see these families bring their kinner, to see them run through the maze as my children once did.”
Mammi changed subjects when she saw Neal Eberly walking in their direction. “Looks as if you’re about to have company, Anna.”
Before she could think of a way to avoid him, Neal was standing at her booth. Anna had made the mistake of riding home with him on Sunday evening after the singing. Perhaps calling it a “mistake” was a bit strong, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression.
“Hello, Anna. Ruth.”
Anna was a little surprised that he knew her Mammi’s name, but then he’d grown up in the district. Probably she was like family to him. That thought caused Anna to smile, which didn’t go unnoticed by young Neal.
“We were preparing the booth for the start of the festival,” Anna said. “It looks gut, ya?”
“It does.” Neal seemed about to say more, but then he clamped his mouth shut and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“Was there something you needed, Neal?” Mammi asked gently.
“Ya, I was wondering if you’d like some of the cold lemonade I brought for the refreshment booth.”
“Lemonade sounds gut, Anna. Please fetch me a glass.” Mammi’s smile widened. “Danki, Neal. That’s very nice of you.”
Anna didn’t have much choice, so she tossed Mammi a we’ll-talk-about-this-later look and walked beside Neal to the refreshment stand. The yard was as full as Anna had ever seen it with children of all sizes, parents, grandparents, and, from the looks of cars pulling off the road, Englischers.
Neal fetched a glass of lemonade for Mammi. “Wait here,” he said, and then he carried the drink back over to her. When he returned, he poured them each some and motioned toward the porch. “Want to sit for a minute? I noticed you’ve been working all morning.”
“I stopped for a sandwich.”
“Which you ate standing up in the booth.”
Anna squirmed uncomfortably. Had Neal been watching her that closely? She needed to nip any romantic ideas he had in the bud because a relationship was not blossoming between them.”
“I enjoyed driving you home Sunday night.”
“And I appreciate your doing so.”
“I was wondering if perhaps you’d like me to pick you up this Sunday evening. Our church service will be at the Bylers’, and they’ll hold the singing in their barn. Of course you could stay, but that sometimes makes for a long day. If you went home after the luncheon I could—”
Anna reached out and touched his arm. “I appreciate the offer, Neal, and I suppose I will see you at the singing…”
“But…”
“But I don’t think we should go as a couple. I’m not ready for that kind of commitment yet.”
“It’s only a singing.” Neal stared into his glass, as if the answers he sought might be floating among slices of lemon.
“It is only a singing,” Anna agreed. “And I noticed several nice young girls watching you at the last one. I wouldn’t want them to think you’re already taken.”
“I wouldn’t mind being taken, though.”
Anna sighed and pressed her glass of lemonade against her forehead.
“Is it because I’m fat?”
“You are not fat. You’re the same size I am.”
Neal smiled for the first time since they sat down. “Well, no one could ever call us skinny.”
“True, but fat is… well, you know. It’s people who sit around and eat whoopie pies all day.”
“We’re too busy for that.”
“Of course we are. You can’t eat while you’re building furniture, and I can’t eat while I’m selling produce or doing whatever Aenti Erin has planned for me next. Say, why do you make furniture? Do you actually enjoy it?”
Neal launched into a long description of the different types of woods and what made for the best table or chair.
Finally, Anna held up her hand to stop him. “You love what you do. I can tell. You’re a very fortunate person, Neal Eberly.”
“And what do you love to do?”
“I don’t know.” Anna stood and handed Neal her empty glass. “I honestly do not know.”
Then she turned and headed back toward the booth, hoping and praying he was no longer watching her every move.
Mammi was still sipping her lemonade and apparently enjoying the activity surrounding her. “You turned him down, didn’t you? I could tell the moment it happened. His shoulders fell as if he’d been crushed by a gigantic weight.”
“Danki. That makes me feel better.”
Mammi smiled and smacked her lips after another sip of the tart lemonade. “Why did you do it, then? Is there something wrong with him?”
“Nein. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, Mammi. Did you ever think of
that?”
“You are as Gotte made you, Anna.”
“So why am I not interested in courting Neal Eberly? He’s a perfectly nice boy with a gut job. He doesn’t smell bad. His hair is cut nicely, and he has wunderbaar manners.”
“It takes more than the good manners and a nice haircut.”
“How did you know?”
Mammi waited.
“How did you know you were in lieb with Grossdaddi?”
The next words surprised Anna as much as anything that had happened that day.
“I don’t know that I was… at first. In my day girls didn’t marry for love so much as for someone to be a gut partner through life. But by the time I had my first boppli? Oh, yes. I loved your grossdaddi by then, and though he died eleven years ago, I still do.”
Anna thought about that as families continued to fill their yard and a line developed at her booth. Loving someone for your whole life. For years and years. For decades.
She supposed her parents loved each other like that, though it had always seemed to her that they were friends more than anything else.
And her aenti and onkel?
Maybe.
It was possible that love looked entirely different from what she had imagined.
CHAPTER 8
That first weekend they opened the corn maze passed in a blur.
Anna forgot about all the questions in her life and enjoyed being where she was. She didn’t mind working in the booth, but her favorite thing was leading the children through the maze of corn. The small ones giggled and shrieked and ran as the corn swayed around them.
Occasionally she’d have a young girl or boy who didn’t believe it was actually corn towering so high above their heads. Then she’d pick them up and pull down one of the cornstalks. Peeling back the husk, she’d point at the yellow and white kernels. “See? Corn, the same as you eat at home.”
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