Anna's Healing

by Vannetta Chapman

  Each time the child’s eyes would brighten, and when they had completed the maze they would run to their parents proclaiming, “I saw the corn. Anna showed me.”

  “Perhaps your calling is to be a teacher,” Erin suggested as they were about to begin the second weekend of the maze.

  They both knew the flipside of what her aenti was saying—perhaps she wasn’t meant to marry.

  Anna didn’t know about marrying, but she did know that teaching wasn’t for her. “Homework and parent meetings and lesson plans? No thank you.”

  Erin shook her head as they cleaned up the breakfast dishes. It was Friday morning, and the crowds would be arriving by noon.

  “Did you always want to be married? To be a housewife?”

  “Ya. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know. I just wondered.”

  Erin was always reticent, never answering more than she had been asked. But on this one occasion she looked directly at Anna and said, “I love your onkel, you know.”

  There was something in her gaze—a deep hurt and a fierce honesty that brought tears to Anna’s eyes.

  Why had she asked?

  Why did she pry?

  She mumbled, “Of course you do,” and hurried outside.

  The cars and buggies began arriving after lunch. There was less setup to do than there had been the week before, and things moved along smoothly. The day flew by, and soon Anna was busy once again leading groups of children through the maze. On the return of one such trip, she was surprised to see a familiar face waiting for her at the booth.

  Chloe smiled and waved. When she did, the silver bracelets she wore jangled and reflected the bright fall sunshine. As before, she wore a pair of Western jeans and boots, and this time a short-sleeved, snap button Western shirt made of a brown, paisley material. Her black curls bounced as she wove her way over to where Anna stood.

  “Hi. I was hoping to see you today.”

  “Well, you certainly looked in the right place. Are you here to write another article?”

  Chloe hitched her purse over her shoulder. “Maybe. Or I might be here simply to enjoy the afternoon.”

  “There’s plenty of food and a booth with drinks too.”

  “Can you take off for a moment? I’d love to buy you a coffee or…”

  “Apple cider would be gut.”

  The bishop’s wife, Mary Beth, was manning the produce stand. “Go on, Anna,” she said. “You’ve barely taken a break since the day started.”

  Chloe purchased two cups of cider at the refreshment booth and then they settled under the large cottonwood tree near the front porch. Someone had set up benches there which were about half filled with parents waiting for their children. It was interesting to see so many Englischers on her onkel’s property. Everyone looked as if they were enjoying the day.

  “I read your article.”

  “Did you? I thought you only read the Budget.”

  “Personally, I read anything I can get my hands on. In this case Rebecca Byler—”

  “She runs the dry goods store, right?”

  “Ya. She saved me a copy of your paper, thinking I’d like to see the article.”

  “And it met with your approval?” Chloe grinned impishly.

  “Oh, it did. You write very well, and I liked how you presented the different opinions.”

  “Well, it’s true that not everyone is happy with the increase in Amish businesses, but I have a feeling the big farmers—the Leo Stuebners of the world—will do fine in spite of a few Amish roadside booths.”

  “I wouldn’t think our small produce stand is a threat to any business.”

  They sipped their cider and sat watching the coming and going of families. Anna was surprised at how comfortable she felt with Chloe. She’d never had an Englisch friend before, not that they were friends exactly. Maybe it was because they were both women, both older than twenty-two, and both unmarried. She supposed Chloe was not married but snuck a glance at her left hand to be sure.

  Nope. No ring.

  “Say, Anna. I’d like to do a piece on the women in your community who make quilts for sale. Do you know anyone like that?”

  “Sure. Many of our women quilt for extra money. It helps supplement their family income—one of those cottage industries you spoke about.”

  “Would you be interested in going with me to see them? I have a feeling they might be more willing to talk with me if you were there.”

  Anna thought about it. She hadn’t been off the farm for anything other than services at church, a few singings, and the occasional visit to the dry goods store. Her aenti had reminded her the night before that if she wanted time off she could have it. Anna was quite sure that Erin was hoping the time off would be for a romantic date, but some girlfriend time sounded better to her.

  “I’ll need to check with my onkel first, but I think I’d like that.”

  So they set a day and hour for the next week, and Anna promised to call her from the phone shack if she couldn’t make it.

  Anna returned to her booth to work. Occasionally she’d glance up and see Chloe speaking with a family or examining some of the items for sale. She noticed, for the first time, that the reporter had not brought her camera with her. No doubt pictures would be good for her newspaper articles, but the fact that she knew it would make people uncomfortable and chose not to bring it said a lot about the woman.

  The rest of the day passed quickly. By the time she closed the booth for the evening, Anna had decided she would go with Chloe on her quest to find Amish quilts. Surely her onkel wouldn’t forbid her to do so. Tuesdays were usually quiet days—Mondays being taken up with laundry and Wednesdays with baking. She’d go Tuesday, ride in the little blue car, and enjoy a day traveling around their district.

  The thought brought a smile to her face, and soon she was humming as she made her way once again into her onkel’s house.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jacob had found work right after he had exited the bus in Yoder, Kansas. He’d stopped by the men’s room to splash his face with water. Then, stepping out onto the main street, a buggy pulled past him, stopped, and waited. When he walked up beside it, a middle-aged Amish man slid open the side window. The man had a gray beard, bright blue eyes, and looked to be between forty and fifty.

  “New in town?”

  “Ya. Just off the bus.”

  The man took a moment to size him up. Finally he said, “Name’s Saul Yoder.”

  At the look of surprise on Jacob’s face, he grinned. “Ya. I know. The town is Yoder and my name is Yoder. There are a lot of Yoders in these parts, and most of us are kin to the original founder.”

  Jacob laughed. “Nice to meet you, Saul. I step off the bus and am greeted by a town celebrity. What are the odds?”

  “Hardly a celebrity, and the meeting isn’t happenchance. One of my workers had a family emergency and needed to go back to Indiana. I dropped him off where the bus picks up, the store you just came from. Too much coming and going if you ask me, but I never was one for travel.” He shrugged and added, “I’m bringing in my sorghum crop and could use some help.”

  It happened more often than most people would believe. There weren’t many Amish itinerant workers, and Jacob had never had trouble finding work unless he landed in an area when there was little work to do. Which is why he followed the seasons and headed south when the winter months approached.

  The work at Saul Yoder’s farm was like the work on any other farm—though his spread was somewhat bigger and the crops therefore more numerous. The small community also allowed tractors in the field, but Jacob learned that was mostly for the planting. The bulk of the harvesting was still done by hand.

  Jacob had read about Amish communities in Oklahoma allowing tractors, but he’d never seen them himself. The two tractors on Yoder’s farm had been converted for off-road use, meaning they had steel rim tires. No teen on their rumspringa would be taking their dad’s tractor to town.

  Surpr
isingly, there was still as much work as he’d seen on places without the vehicles. Perhaps the farmers were able to plant a little more or more easily pull in a second harvest.

  Either way, the yield had been good. The sorghum cane had grown to ten feet, and the cluster of seeds at the top were a nice size. The harvest involved using a thin-bladed stick to strip the leaves from each side of the stalk, after which you could remove the head of seeds. Once that was done, another worker followed behind and cut the stalk off close to the ground. It was then taken into the barn, where Saul had a processing machine that crushed the cane and harvested the juice, which was collected into large containers and cooked.

  The sorghum would be used in the silage to feed the farmer’s animals. And some was also traditionally put back for cooking—a sweet syrup that Jacob liked even better than molasses.

  The size of the harvest explained why Saul had several hired workers, including a few Englisch ones. Together they worked long hours to bring in the crop, hurrying to do it before predicted storms arrived the following week.

  He’d been there for a little over a week and everything had gone well. Saul paid on Fridays, even when the men were expected to work on Saturday. He said if he couldn’t trust them to stay around for the last day of the week, he supposed he hadn’t made a wise decision in hiring them.

  Giving them their wages on Friday allowed them to knock off an hour early and go into town to buy any supplies they needed.

  The trouble began on the second Friday evening, after they had received their wages.

  Jacob had been in the fields all day—they all had, even Saul’s wife and daughters. The harvest had gone well. One more day, and they should be finished. He could tell that Saul was relieved. No Amish farmer would be caught working on a Sunday, and heavy storms were still predicted for the next Monday, including high winds and hail that would likely ruin whatever was left standing in the fields.

  Jacob accepted his pay, thanked Saul for the work, and walked slowly to the old barn to wash up. He and the other three hired hands were bunking in a converted workroom that had been cleaned up and furnished with cots. Jacob had recently been reading Grapes of Wrath. Though he rarely read fiction, Steinbeck’s book had been on a SWAP shelf at a bus station in Nebraska, halfway through his trip. He’d finished the Dakotas history and readily selected the new title and replaced it with his.

  John Steinbeck’s book was on his mind as he walked toward the barn. It seemed to him that very little had changed in the way of farming since the 1930s, at least not for the Amish. However, the economic and political aspects of the novel challenged him. Mulling those ideas over in his mind and dead tired from a day in the fields, he pushed open the barn door. A separate part of his mind was thinking of washing up, filling his belly, and settling down to finish the story of migrant workers during the Great Depression.

  He stepped into the cool darkness of the barn, and that was when he first heard the muffled sound, something that didn’t belong. Perhaps a hurt animal or…

  There it was again.

  As he walked to the back of the barn, something in his stomach twisted and turned.

  The sound was clearer now. He recognized it as a low, quiet, desperate sob, and it wasn’t from an animal.

  When he reached the back stall, there was barely enough light to discern what was happening, but then it didn’t take a spotlight or an explanation. One look was all Jacob needed.

  “Leave him alone.”

  Cory Shoals, one of the Englisch hired hands, momentarily froze. Cory was only medium sized, but he had calloused hands, and he was strong in the way of most harvest workers. He was also a bully. Jacob had caught him taking Miguel’s lunch and harassing him in the bunk room. Each time, Jacob had ignored it, opting instead to help Miguel. But this time was different. This time, blood had been shed.

  Cory had Miguel Garza backed up to the wall and was holding the kid’s wallet. Blood dripped from Miguel’s nose and his right eye was beginning to swell. Miguel was what Amish folk called special. He was a hard worker but somewhat slow in understanding things. It wasn’t a problem when harvesting. Miguel was a grown man, but in many ways he had the attitude of a child. The first day Jacob had arrived, Miguel had found a dead bird among the crops. It had been a strange sight to see the six foot, muscular man sitting on the ground, crying, and holding the small animal.

  “I said leave him alone.”

  Miguel’s eyes were wide with fear, and tears streamed down his cheeks. He glanced at Jacob and then down at the ground, as if he could make himself invisible.

  “I heard you, Amish boy. We all know that Miguel here is your friend, but this is none of your business.”

  Cory turned his attention back to Miguel, who was literally cowering away from the man. Miguel was bigger and stronger than Cory, but he didn’t know that. He only knew that he was afraid and that someone had hurt him.

  “Looks like you’ve been saving up your money for a couple of weeks, Miguel. This just happens to be the amount I need.” Cory snatched the bills and dropped the wallet on the ground.

  Red spots floated in front of Jacob’s vision. Convinced he could control his anger, and with his eyesight having grown accustomed to the darkness, he strode into the stall and pulled Cory away from Miguel.

  “This is none of your business, Jacob.” Cory’s tone landed somewhere between a sneer and a laugh. “So stay out of it.”

  “I said leave him alone and give him back that money.”

  “Or what? Are you going to run and tell the boss?” Cory turned back to Miguel and pushed him once more, causing Miguel to trip over a pail and land on the ground. “Go ahead and tell. By the time you get back, I’ll be packed and long gone.”

  Miguel struggled to his feet at the same moment Jacob snapped.

  He certainly couldn’t say later that he thoughtfully considered his options.

  Instead, his instinct to protect simply flooded every other part of his brain. His pulse and blood pressure accelerated. His muscles tensed as his brain sent signals that the danger was still present and very real. Adrenaline pumped through his veins.

  He grabbed Cory’s shoulder and attempted to drag him away from Miguel. When the man resisted, Jacob pulled back his arm, clenched his hand into a fist, and knocked him out in a single punch.

  Miguel barely hesitated. His eyes still cast down, he picked up his wallet off the ground, not bothering to gather his money, and fled.

  Cory didn’t move. He lay there on the barn floor, a small amount of spittle drying at the corner of the mouth, his face turned toward the roof of the barn, his eyes closed.

  Had he killed the man with a single punch? Unlikely, but Cory was definitely out.

  Jacob found an empty feed crate, turned it over, and sat down on it. He’d keep an eye on Cory in case he came to and attempted to run.

  He doubted he would be alone for very long.

  CHAPTER 10

  The next day Jacob sat down for his second meeting with the local bishop.

  Saul Yoder was also in attendance.

  As before, the meeting took place in Saul’s kitchen. The air was rich with the smell of bread recently baked, and a blackberry pie cooled on the counter. A full pot of coffee sat on the stove. It was an indicator of the seriousness of the meeting that no refreshments were offered.

  Bishop Schrock was the first to speak. “Jacob, I want you to know we called the phone number you gave us yesterday. The one for…” He stopped and ran a finger down a sheet of paper where he’d written a few notes during their first meeting.

  “Matthew. Matthew Hochstettler. He was able to verify that you did indeed work for him.” Schrock took off his glasses and swiped at the dust on them. “He gave you a wunderbaar character reference. Said he’d had no trouble from you at all.”

  Instead of asking what the man had expected to hear, Jacob simply nodded once.

  “Which makes this situation all the more puzzling.”

  Jacob re
mained silent. He’d given his version of what had happened the day before. As far as he knew, Cory was still in the Englischer’s jail, and that was what mattered. Miguel was safe, and his money had been returned to him. Jacob wouldn’t apologize for what he’d done. Given the chance, he was certain he would do the same thing again.

  “I’ve also spoken to your bishop in Clymer. He had gut things to say about you, though he’s puzzled by your desire to travel instead of settle down. He told me he’s spoken with you about this several times, and he even warned you that it could only result in trouble.”

  Jacob remembered that conversation well enough, but he chose not to elaborate on it.

  “I appreciate what you did for Miguel, Jacob. He lives in the next town and works for us every harvest.” Saul rubbed at his eyes. No doubt he’d had little sleep the night before. “However, you know it’s not our way to respond in a violent manner to any situation.”

  Bishop Schrock picked up where Saul left off. “Jacob, you are young, so your transgression can be forgiven. However—”

  “Transgression?” In spite of his vow to remain calm, Jacob’s temper flared. “Saving Miguel was no transgression.”

  “But the use of violence was. In the fifth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew we are instructed not to ‘resist an evil person.’ If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, you are commanded to turn the other also.”

  “I’m familiar with Christ’s words, and if I had been slapped I am certain I would have been able to turn the other cheek.”

  “The commandment is the same regardless—”

  “It is not!” Jacob closed his eyes and pulled in a calming breath. “I beg your pardon, Bishop Schrock. I do not mean to argue with you.”

  “And yet you are.”

  “But the Scripture does not forbid us from protecting women and children. Miguel… he is like a child.”

  “The Scripture is plain, Jacob. I understand that at your age this is difficult to understand. When we respond with violence, we preempt God’s intervention.”