Josiah for President

by Martha Bolton

  Mark took one last bite of mashed potatoes, savoring the taste of it, and licked a bit of gravy off his fork before getting up to follow Josiah out the door.

  Back at the car, Josiah and Mark resumed their unconventional repairs on the bent axle, trying to shape it back into place. The sound of metal on metal echoed off the barn walls, as did the intermittent sound of their laughter.

  “So, what about you?” Mark asked. “Aside from encountering tourists every season, have you ever gotten a taste of life on the outside?”

  “I got a small taste of it in my rumspringa days. After that, I knew this was where I’d be most content. My heart is here.”

  “Rumspringa?”

  “It’s a period of time when Amish young people experience the outside world before deciding whether they want to join the Amish church.”

  “So our world didn’t hold any interest for you, then?”

  “Look around you,” Josiah said, gesturing to the green, rolling hills that surrounded them, and to his wife, who was playing with their children by the porch. “Tell me what I’m missing.”

  Mark nodded in understanding.

  “How about you?” Josiah asked. “Any regrets about becoming a politician?”

  “Only that I didn’t do enough. I was driven when I first came to Washington. Driven and focused on making a difference. But I lost something along the way …”

  “And what’s that?”

  “My vision, I guess. Happens to the best of us. We come to Washington with grand ideas of how we’re going to change things, change the way the place operates. But instead of changing Washington, something changes inside of us. We get that addictive taste of power, and before long, we’re not voting our conscience.”

  “Power’s not all it’s cracked up to be. The Amish have known that for years.”

  Mark smiled. “Don’t get me wrong. Most of us use our power for all the right reasons — to help our country, fix her problems, and protect our freedoms — but we … well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know which we lose first — our vision or our way.”

  “One’s just as important as the other — where you’re heading and how you get there.”

  “Yes, but we get so frustrated with the system. It wears us down, and then some of us just stop fighting it. It’s easier to go along with the majority than to stand for something alone.”

  “A vision worth having is a vision worth holding on to,” Josiah said, giving the axle one final good strike before calling it a day. “We’ll finish this up tomorrow. The sun’s about gone, and it looks like there’s a storm fixing to roll in too.”

  Without street lights and neon signs, it got rather dark in the little Amish community, so the men started wrapping up their work.

  “Thanks again for all your help,” Mark said.

  When the men walked into the house, they found Elizabeth sitting on the sofa making some repairs to a pair of Josiah’s pants. Mark sheepishly looked at her and asked, “I don’t suppose there’d be any of that shoofly pie left over from supper?”

  “Oh, I reckon I might be able to scrounge up a piece,” Elizabeth said as she put down her sewing and got the men another slice of the popular Amish pie made from molasses. It was every bit as good as it had been earlier. And the slice after that one was even better.

  “So what does your wife think about you quitting the campaign?” Josiah asked once the kids had said their prayers and were off to bed, their playful sounds hushed for the night.

  “We’ve both accepted the fact that this wasn’t our time.”

  “And what would make it your time, Mark?”

  “Well, for one thing, the party would have to back me 100 percent. And I’d have to do a better job of fund-raising.”

  “It takes a lot of money to run for president, does it?” Josiah said.

  “More than I ever realized. I was outspent four to one! These days, it’s all about fund-raising.”

  “It’s about a lot more than that, my friend.”

  Mark knew what Josiah meant.

  “It seems campaigns have become more about who can buy the cleverest, or nastiest, campaign ads.”

  “It gets pretty competitive, huh?”

  “It can get downright mean-spirited. Everyone jockeying for position. Some will do or say whatever it takes to get elected.”

  “So they don’t just want the best man to win?”

  “Only if that man or woman is them,” Mark said. “I tried to be a different kind of candidate, but as you can see, I’m out of the race.”

  Carl had once tried to talk Mark into doing a bit of mudslinging himself, but Mark was proud that he hadn’t stooped to that level.

  At least I can sleep at night.

  Mark prided himself on giving others the benefit of the doubt. The atmosphere of trial by rumor and innuendo that seemed to prevail in the politics of the day had left a bad taste in his mouth. As unreliable as most rumors were, he was surprised to see how quickly folks turned on someone they had believed in for years, sometimes decades. Loyalty these days was wafer thin, and many a stellar career had been destroyed by the unproven and unchallenged words of its rivals.

  Elizabeth showed Mark to the guest room and told him he was welcome to take a bath before turning in. Mark looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock.

  Is she serious?

  His normal routine was to work on his computer, then catch the late-night comedy shows, turning in somewhere a little closer to midnight. But there would be no late-night comedy shows tonight because there was no TV.

  Mark sighed, figuring he could use the rest anyway.

  After taking his bath, Mark lay down on the bed and stared out the window at the stars in the sky. It had been a while since he’d actually taken the time to look at the stars. He was pleased to know they were still there, just as they had been on his grandpa’s farm so many years ago.

  CHAPTER 9

  A SPRINGTIME THUNDERSTORM HAD PASSED THROUGH LANCASTER County overnight, leaving the grass even more lush and the roads cleaner, if that were possible. After a hearty breakfast, Mark and Josiah got an early start on completing the repairs to the government car’s axle. It was looking better. They still had the cracked radiator to deal with, but the axle would soon be corrected. As much as Mark was enjoying the company and hospitality of his new friends, he was eager to get home to Cindy.

  Carrying a metal bucket, Mary Ann walked by, heading to the chicken coop. She waved to Josiah and to Mark.

  “You’re up mighty early, young lady,” Mark said, impressed with such a responsible teenager.

  Mary Ann smiled and continued on her way.

  “She’s going to feed the chickens.”

  “She does her chores before school?” Mark asked, amazed.

  “She already milked the cows. They all have morning chores,” Josiah said. “It teaches them responsibility.”

  Mark thought of his own kids and wondered what their record was for hitting the snooze button before finally dragging themselves out of bed and getting dressed for school. He was sure it was something for Guinness’s book of world records.

  BART CAME TO WORK IN THE MORNING LOOKING UNUSUALLY well rested and unstressed.

  “So how’d it go?” Marcia asked.

  “Great!” Bart said.

  “So you did it?”

  “You should’ve heard me. I said, ‘Harley, you have talked down to me for the last time! If I have to endure your constant barrage of put-downs, I will not remain in your employ. You are an overbearing, opinionated, condescending, egomaniac bully, and I wouldn’t vote for you if you were the only name on the ballot and you offered me the job of my choice on your cabinet!”

  Bart beamed with satisfaction. He had finally done it!

  “Wow!” Marcia said, looking quite impressed. “You said all that to Harley?”

  “Harley? Are you kidding? I said it to my therapist. I stopped by there on my way home yesterday, and she had me do some role playing. Baby ste
ps.”

  “I should’ve known,” Marcia said, shaking her head. “No one stands up to Harley Phillips and stays around long enough to tell it.”

  Bart knew it was safer for him to tell his woes to a paid listener who charged him one hundred dollars an hour to hear his complaints. That way his job stayed intact, his marriage wouldn’t suffer, and his blood pressure wouldn’t trigger the alarm on his portable blood-pressure machine.

  Harley stepped into the room. “What have you heard? Did you get me booked for that speaking deal? Am I on the list?”

  “The foundation event?” Bart asked. “Well, I tried, but they’re still saying there’s no time for you to speak.”

  “What difference does it make?” Marcia added. “I thought you were going to crash it anyway.”

  “I will if I have to, but I’d rather be included on the program. I don’t want it to look like I invited myself,” Harley said.

  “But you are inviting yourself,” Marcia pointed out.

  “Keep working on it,” Harley said to Bart, seemingly undaunted by Marcia’s barb.

  “There’s nothing to work on, sir,” Bart said.

  “Listen, Bart. Tell them they can give me the light or play-off music or whatever cue they want. Just get me up there!”

  Bart knew the foundation event was especially important for Harley. It was a gathering of some of the nation’s most influential leaders and philanthropists. The Montgomery/Stead/Ross Foundation Dinner was an event his father-in-law not only needed to attend but also needed to be included as an honored guest on the program. After that last go-round when Harley had monopolized the program, the event planners didn’t want him anywhere near the microphone again, presidential candidate or not. They had said as much to Bart when he’d tried once again to persuade them to reconsider. To some program officials, the thrill of having a presidential candidate on your stage paled in comparison to disrupting their already-set committee plans.

  How could Bart convince the event chairman that Harley was ready to concede a few things now — his never-ending speech being one of them? Bart knew that Harley had already taken the editing pencil to his impassioned, forty-five-minute, off-the-cuff remarks and pared them down to a mere twenty minutes. But the committee didn’t know that. Nor did they care.

  “I can get it down more,” Harley said. “Ten minutes. Ten minutes! That’s all I’m asking for. Tell them ten minutes. I’m still the front-runner in most of the polls. Does that mean anything to anyone around here?”

  “I’ll ask them one more time,” Bart said.

  “Good. Good.” Harley looked pleased. “They’ll come to their senses, I’m sure of it. Still no word on Stedman’s supporters?”

  “Last I heard, Congressman Stedman was driving home, sir. Probably wouldn’t make an announcement this soon anyway. You’re not actually counting on his endorsement, are you, sir?”

  “If he knows what’s best for this country, I am. Look, I know he and I don’t always see eye to eye, but Stedman loves America. He’ll do what’s right.”

  JOSIAH HAMMERED THE FINAL BLOW TO THE TWEAKED AXLE OF the government car. Aside from an assortment of dimples and dents, the car looked almost as good as new. Almost.

  “You should be able to steer her now,” Josiah said.

  Mark checked the car over, impressed with his and Josiah’s handiwork.

  “We should open up a shop — Buggies and Bureaucrats.” Mark laughed. Then he made a make-shift funnel and poured some of the horses’ water into the radiator. He sat down in the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine choked and sputtered, eventually turning over, but steam immediately started billowing out of the engine. Mark turned the steering wheel slowly to the left and then to the right.

  “Can’t go anywhere till the radiator’s fixed,” he said.

  “Can’t help you there. But like I said yesterday, I’ve got a Mennonite friend who lives over in —”

  “Bird-in-Hand, right?”

  “Good memory.”

  “Hard to forget a name like that.”

  “Well, I’ve got some errands to run with Elizabeth later, so I’ll run you up to the phone now so we can see if my friend Jake can help you out.”

  The two men got in the buggy and rode back to the house of the Mennonite family with the phone to place a call to Jake’s Radiator Shop in Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania. Jake himself took the call and promised to have a tow out to Josiah’s place as soon as possible. Mark also asked the Mennonite family if he could place another call to his wife. They were more than obliging.

  “Hi, hon,” he said when Cindy answered after the first ring.

  “Please tell me you’re on your way home.”

  “Got everything fixed except the radiator,” he said. “But we’ve got a tow on its way now. As soon as that’s repaired, I’ll be heading out.”

  “Okay. Get here as soon as you can. We miss you,” Cindy said.

  “None of this was in my plans. But it’s working out. Could’ve been worse, I guess.”

  Life can always be worse, he thought.

  “Bye, hon,” Mark said. Once again, he thanked the Mennonite family and then climbed back into the buggy with Josiah.

  The tow truck arrived at Josiah’s place shortly after Mark and Josiah arrived in the buggy. Mark suggested he ride with the driver into town and then leave from there as soon as the work was finished.

  “You could do that,” Josiah said. “But aren’t you forgetting something, my friend?”

  Mark looked at him, puzzled. “What’s that?”

  “Don’t you owe me a day of baling hay?” Josiah said, raising an eyebrow and giving a friendly grin.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” Mark said, embarrassed. “Guess I forgot.”

  Mark intended to fulfill his part of the bargain; he truly had just forgotten. He hoped Josiah would understand and believe him.

  Mark and Josiah watched as the tow-truck driver hitched up the car and hauled it away. Then Mark turned to Josiah, “Well, let’s get started on that hay.”

  “Can’t today,” Josiah said. “I’ve got those errands to run with Elizabeth and the children. You’re welcome to join us, if you like. Or you can stay here. But we’ll start baling first thing in the morning.”

  Mark really wanted to get on the road, but he couldn’t very well take all of Josiah and Elizabeth’s hospitality for granted and not help with the baling as he’d promised.

  “That’s fine. Tomorrow it is. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stay here and take care of some business.” He had retrieved his briefcase from the car before the tow truck showed up and had plenty of paperwork to take care of. It would certainly keep him busy for the rest of the afternoon, or until Josiah and his family returned from their errands.

  THAT NIGHT, MARK ENJOYED ANOTHER DELICIOUS AMISH MEAL, this one topped off by homemade peach cobbler.

  If I had to get stranded, I sure picked the right place to do it, he thought.

  “So what time should I set my alarm for?” he asked as they all got ready to turn in.

  “‘Bout 4:30 should be fine,” Josiah said.

  Mark tried to not let the chagrin show on his face. Four thirty a.m.? Is he joking? Who gets up at 4:30 in the morning?

  Roosters, that was who.

  IT WAS MOSTLY DARK OUTSIDE WHEN THE COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOS started coming through the open window in the room where Mark was sleeping. Apparently he’d been so tired the previous morning, he’d slept through the barnyard symphony. But this morning he heard it loud and clear. He pressed his pillow over his head, trying to drown out their cackling chorus. It didn’t work. The crowing continued, and roosters didn’t have snooze alarms.

  Mark stumbled out of bed and made his way down the hallway to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face, slapped himself a few times, and then returned to his room.

  He hadn’t brought any outdoor clothes with him — he hadn’t planned on baling hay on his way home from Washington, D.C. �
� and the only semicasual clothes he had were the pants and shirt he’d worn the day before. Elizabeth graciously offered to wash those on the washboard so they’d be dry by the time the men were done with their work. In the meantime, it was decided that Mark would borrow some of Josiah’s Amish clothes for the fieldwork.

  “Good thing you’re my size,” Mark said when he walked into the dining room wearing the traditional Amish pants, shirt, and suspenders.

  The kids looked up and gave a slight giggle at the sight of the man from Washington in their Amish clothing.

  “Children,” Elizabeth reprimanded, biting her lip as if to hold back a smile herself. The kids obeyed and stopped their giggling.

  Mark was still surprised to see the children up so early in the morning. Up and wide awake, ready to start their day. Some mornings he didn’t see his own kids’ opened eyes until he was dropping them off at school. But it was too early in the morning for deep philosophical thoughts about his family dynamics. He greeted the children and sat down at the table.

  Josiah’s clothes fit Mark adequately. He missed having a pocket in the pants, but Josiah had already explained that Amish pants didn’t typically have pockets. Mark did like the suspenders, though. So much so that he entertained the thought of buying a pair for himself to wear under his suits.

  “That bacon sure smells good,” Mark said.

  “It’ll be on the table shortly,” Josiah said. “We’ll eat a hearty breakfast first and then commence working at sunrise.”

  “I sure appreciate all you’ve done for me,” Mark said.

  “Glad to help,” Josiah responded. “Believe me, my friend, today you’ll earn your breakfast.”

  Mark waited for Josiah to say the traditional prayer.

  “Would you like to say grace today?” Josiah asked Mark.

  “Sure,” Mark said, trying to recall some of the eloquent words he’d used in invocations delivered before Congress and at other special events. No words came to him, though, except honest and simple gratefulness for this good family who had shown him such kindness. “Lord, thank you for this meal before us and for this kind and loving family who are helping me more than they realize.”