Josiah for President

by Martha Bolton

  After the prayer, Elizabeth carried a platter of scrambled eggs from the gas stove behind them to the table and placed it between a bowl of white gravy and a platter of hashed brown potatoes. Mark could get used to this kind of home cooking.

  “You ever baled hay before?” Josiah asked.

  Mark nodded. “With my grandpa. It’s been a while. But I imagine it’s a bit different on an Amish farm. You use a tractor?”

  “No, but we do use a hay baler. Our horses pull it.”

  Mark was curious to see how it was all done.

  After breakfast, Mark followed Josiah out to the barn through the low-lying fog that hugged the landscape. The temperature was pleasant. It was the start of a beautiful day in Lancaster County. The morning air felt good to Mark, who tended to spend most of his time indoors, sitting behind a desk — a Washington “insider” by all definitions.

  Josiah and Mark hitched up the team of draft horses, and then connected the hitch to a wheeled cart on which Josiah would stand to steer the horses. The hay baler followed that and would bale the hay into rectangular bundles. Mark would then take the bundles off the conveyor belt and stack them on the flatbed wagon that followed behind the baler.

  “Now if everything goes according to plan, we should be done by this afternoon,” Josiah promised.

  “Sounds good,” Mark said with a nod.

  “You ready?”

  “Let’s do it!”

  Josiah clicked his tongue and snapped the reins. The horses snorted, then took off toward the field.

  “According to the Farmer’s Almanac — and my knees — there won’t be a drop of rain today,” Josiah said.

  Mark smiled. “My granddad used the same forecast system. He’d always tell me, ‘Gather what you can in good weather, boy, so you’ll be prepared for whatever the future brings.’ “

  “I would’ve liked your grandfather. He was a very wise man.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “TEN MINUTES,” BART SAID WHEN HE WALKED INTO HARLEY’S office. “That’s what they’ll give you — ten minutes and not a second more.”

  “You told them I’d take it, right?”

  “They were emphatic, Harley. Ten minutes.”

  “Got it. Ten minutes. Book it!”

  Bart had already booked it, but he wasn’t going to give Harley the satisfaction of knowing that. It gave Bart a certain sense of satisfaction to annoy Harley in this manner. (The Put Upon take what they can get.)

  Harley seemed to be satisfied with the ten minutes, and Bart didn’t want to wait around for him to start looking for wiggle room, trying to push the allotted time to eleven minutes, or twelve, or whatever he could add on. As Bart walked out of Harley’s office, though, he could have sworn he heard his father-in-law mutter, “Once I’m onstage, they won’t have the guts to kick me off.”

  Bart headed down the hall to the campaign manager’s office. Stacy Creighton was in the middle of finalizing a string of a dozen or so whistle-stops on the upcoming Harley campaign train when Bart walked into his office.

  “Well, I told him,” Bart said.

  Stacy looked up from his paperwork. “You said ten minutes, right?”

  “Ten minutes and not one second or syllable more.”

  “And?”

  “He said to take it,” Bart said with a shrug, surprised at Harley’s acquiescence and suspicious of it at the same time.

  “I still think it’s a mistake,” Stacy said.

  “The whole campaign is a mistake,” Bart replied, glancing up and noticing the latest Harley for President poster on the wall. In this one, Harley’s smile looked even wider and brighter than before, sincere even. Ah, the wonders of Photoshop.

  “So tell me again why we’re backing someone you and I both know would make a lousy president?” Bart asked.

  “Because he’s paying me to manage this campaign, and you’re his son-in-law,” Stacy said.

  “Well, at least we’ve got good reasons,” Bart said with a sigh, disappointed—mostly in himself.

  THE TOW-TRUCK DRIVER BROUGHT THE CAR BACK AROUND eleven o’clock that morning. Mark took a much-needed break from baling hay to test out the car. It seemed to be working fine, so he paid the driver and returned to his work. He was exhausted, but it felt good to be out in the sun, working up a sweat. And working off some of that peach cobbler from the previous night’s supper.

  By midafternoon, the flatbed wagon was piled high with bales of hay. Josiah steered the horses and the wagon back to the barn, where the men loaded the bales onto a conveyor belt that took the hay up to the top of the barn. Once their work was done, Josiah and Mark sat down on a couple of old tree stumps and caught their breath.

  “I don’t know which was more work — fixing your car or baling my hay,” Josiah said. “I think I might owe you.”

  “I’m all for calling it even.”

  Josiah nodded in agreement. “Stay for supper?”

  “Thanks, but I should probably change and get on my way before my wife decides to drive down and fetch me herself.”

  “Spend time with her, Mark,” Josiah said. “Live your convictions. It’s a gut thing that you both still care about each other after … How many years you been married?”

  “Well, let’s see, twenty — oh no!” Mark stopped short.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The gift! I need to buy my wife an anniversary gift. You see, I’ve been so distracted, I’d somehow forgotten the date, but I didn’t tell her that. Then I told her that I’d already gotten her something. So I …”

  “Lied?”

  “Well, technically, yeah, I guess. Sort of. But it’s one of those lies that doesn’t really count.”

  “They all count, Mark.”

  “You think I should’ve admitted I’d forgotten our anniversary? How would that have made her feel?”

  “Upset that you forgot one of the most important dates of your life. But she’ll know she can trust you to always tell her the truth. No gift can buy that.”

  Mark wondered if Josiah was right. But before he could agree or disagree with him, Josiah asked, “Does your wife like quilts?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Elizabeth makes beautiful quilts.”

  “Oh, Cindy would love that! How much do you want for one?”

  “It would be our gift to you both.”

  “No, no. A quilt has too much work in it for you to give it to us,” Mark said.

  “I’m a farmer and Elizabeth is a quilter. We’re specialists.” Josiah laughed. “It’s either the quilt or a bale of hay. Take your pick.”

  “The quilt, then,” Mark said. “If you’re sure.”

  “Jah, I’m sure. And we send it along with our prayer that God continues to bless your marriage.”

  “We’re not talking about ‘quivers’ again, are we?” Mark asked. “‘Cause I’ve got all the kids I can handle right now.”

  “God knows what kind of blessings you need, Mark,” Josiah said. “Let him surprise you.”

  Mark selected an impeccably crafted quilt from Elizabeth’s collection and then, after a quick change of clothes, loaded his belongings into the car.

  “I can’t thank you enough for all your help. Are you sure I can’t pay you anything?”

  “Kindness doesn’t have a price tag.”

  Mark raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever been to D.C.?” He laughed.

  “You can make it better, Mark,” Josiah said.

  Mark was tempted to reiterate how he’s tried and how it was someone else’s problem now, but he needed to get back on the road. “Thanks again,” he said as got into the car.

  “Keep her on the road. She’ll operate better that way.” Josiah laughed.

  “No more Dashboard Lady, that’s for sure,” Mark said, waving a paper in his hand. “Got directions from the tow-truck driver. And I’ll tell Cindy the truth about the gift.”

  Josiah smiled, pleased. “Enjoy,” he said. “Both the quilt and the clear conscience. They�
��ll both help you sleep better at night.”

  With one last wave good-bye to his friends, Mark was finally on his way home.

  MARK MADE HIS WAY THROUGH THE COUNTRY ROADS, WATCHING the pastoral setting change into landscape punctuated with billboards and telephone poles. Eventually he merged onto the highway, heading in the direction of Wisconsin.

  It wasn’t long before Mark glanced down at his fuel gauge and realized it was getting uncomfortably close to empty. He pulled off the highway and into the first filling station he came to. He grimaced at the price of the gas as he took the cap off his fuel tank and began pumping the $5.40 a gallon liquid gold into the car. Other customers stared at him. Mark suspected that they had recognized him and were wondering if they were seeing who they thought they were seeing.

  Mark turned to the curious gawkers and said, “Yeah, we have to pay these prices too.”

  When he was done, he got back into his car and headed down the highway. After settling into a lane, he checked his iPhone, thrilled to see three bars of reception. He decided to place some calls with his hands-free device.

  After checking in with Cindy and Carl, it was Sam Lynch’s turn. Mark dreaded the call. He knew what Sam wanted — Mark’s endorsement for Harley Phillips. But Mark wasn’t ready to toss that Harley’s way — not yet anyway.

  “Where have you been?” Sam barked when he picked up the phone.

  “Sorry. Had a car wreck and …”

  “We’ve been trying to reach you for two days! We need that endorsement.”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Mark said.

  “Car wreck? What are you doing, Stedman? Can’t you stay out of the news for one week?” Sam said. Then, realizing his insensitivity, he added, “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Tell Harley I’ll have to get back to him on the endorsement, though. Still haven’t made up my mind.”

  “We’ve got an election to win here, Mark. We could use a little cooperation. I thought you were a team player.”

  “I’m fully aware of the election, Sam,” Mark said. “I just need to be sure before I —”

  “Listen to me, Stedman! We’re running against the clock here. New York and Pennsylvania are just around the corner. Harley needs that endorsement to carry those states.”

  “My endorsement’s going to matter? I only had 10 percent, remember?”

  “It could help carry Pennsylvania. You polled well there.”

  Now he notices?

  “And some of the other states that are too close to call,” Sam added.

  As if on cue, Mark drove past a Harley Phillips for President billboard featuring a broadly smiling, bigger-than-life photo of Harley. It read, “Get America back on the right road! Elect Harley Phillips!”

  Mark spoke aloud to the billboard, “Yeah, and let you drive us all right into the ditch?”

  “What?” Sam asked, still waiting on the line for Mark’s answer.

  “Uh, nothing,” Mark said, realizing Sam had heard him venting. “I was just talking to an idiot.”

  “Crazy drivers, huh? Look, Mark, we need a decision, and we need it now.”

  Okay, if that’s the way they want to play.

  “Sam, I can’t in good conscience endorse Phillips. But I will endorse someone soon. I promise.”

  “Who’s talking about conscience, Mark? I’m talking about not sabotaging the party! Now I’m asking you for the last time, give Harley your votes!”

  With that Sam slammed down his phone. Apparently the conversation was over.

  “Jerk!” Mark said, confident that this time Sam wasn’t on the other end of the line listening. But even if Sam had been listening, the description was a fair one, at least in Mark’s opinion. Being pushed into endorsing a candidate he didn’t believe in went against everything Mark stood for.

  For the remainder of the drive home, Mark tried to put Washington politics behind him. He would drive as far as he could, get a room for the night, and then finish the drive the following day. He would soon be home with his family. Even with all their walls up, Mark never doubted their loyalty. Who needed wafflers? Who needed people who were behind him one day, but who hardly remembered his name the next?

  Mark had been instrumental in giving Sam his first official position in the party. Had Sam forgotten that? Of course he had. Just like all the other people Mark had helped over the years. An epidemic of short memory spans was sweeping across Washington and infecting almost everyone in Mark Stedman’s political life. The silence of friends and coworkers who had come to his defense following the debate snub had been deafening.

  Mark didn’t have to wonder where he stood with Cindy and the kids, though. He didn’t have to wake up in the morning and wonder if he’d lost their love and support because of some decision he had made on behalf of the family. Or some unfounded rumor they’d heard. They loved him enough to trust his good sense and fair judgment. Even his teenagers.

  He wished politics could operate the same way. Even though most of the politicians he knew were good people at the core, these days a politician was only as good as his or her last decision. And sometimes politicians didn’t even get credit for that.

  But Washington wasn’t Mark’s problem to fix anymore.

  If it could be fixed.

  AS SOON AS CINDY HEARD MARK’S CAR PULL INTO THE DRIVEWAY, she ran out to meet him. The thought of Mark running the vehicle off the road had stirred a fear inside her that only seeing her husband in person would settle.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him the moment he stepped out of the car. He returned the embrace.

  “I’m fine, really,” Mark said. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

  They exchanged a tender kiss.

  “I can’t believe it’s over,” Cindy said.

  “Seems surreal, doesn’t it?”

  “You miss it yet?”

  “Haven’t been out of it long enough to miss it. But I will tell you this …”

  “What’s that, Congressman?” she said, snuggling closer, savoring the moment.

  “I’ve missed you. It feels good to have you in my arms again,” Mark said. “And to finally be home.”

  Later that evening, Cindy watched as Mark sat at his bedroom desk working. It was good to have him home with her. During his many years in politics, she had never liked being away from him. She knew he was a family man at heart and would do anything for her or the kids, yet politics was a career that didn’t lend itself easily to an abundance of family time. His chosen profession had cost them all something. She knew what it had cost Mark personally, but she was certain he had no clue what it had cost her and the kids.

  Cindy finished brushing her hair and then walked over and began massaging Mark’s neck.

  “That feels good,” Mark said, leaning back in the chair.

  “I’m sorry about the campaign, Mark, but I’ll admit I’m happy I won’t have to share you anymore.”

  “Maybe things will get back to normal now, huh?” Mark said.

  Cindy gave a slight nod and waited a few moments before asking what she really wanted to know. When the moment felt right, she cautiously broached the subject.

  “Is that really where you were, Mark? An Amish farm?”

  “I’m not that creative, Cindy,” Mark said. “I couldn’t make up something like that.”

  Mark had never given Cindy any reason to doubt his faithfulness. But with all the time he spent on the road and with the media all too often breaking stories about politicians caught in the scandal of a double life, she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering there.

  “So we’re okay?” she asked.

  “Better than okay.”

  Mark stood and took Cindy in his arms again, holding her close. “You know, sweetheart, I learned a lot these last few days,” he said.

  “On the Amish farm?”

  Mark nodded. “Things I thought I knew about myself but didn’t really.”

  “Like?”

 
“Like how far off the mark I am.”

  Mark took the quilt out of his suitcase and handed it to her.

  “Happy anniversary,” he said.

  Cindy was delighted and excitedly unfolded the handmade quilt, marveling at the intricate detail.

  “Oh, my. It’s beautiful!” she said. “I guess you were on an Amish farm. They don’t sell these at the mall.”

  “You like it?”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I love it!”

  “I have a confession to make.”

  “Okay,” Cindy said, haltingly.

  “When I told you I’d bought your gift, I hadn’t yet.”

  “I know,” Cindy said with relief.

  “You knew?”

  “You’ve had a lot on your mind. It’s okay.”

  “You’re not mad at me?”

  “Well, the quilt helps.” Cindy smiled. “I really do love it.”

  “I’ll have to take you there to meet them sometime — that Amish family. You’d like them. Especially Josiah.”

  “He really impressed you, huh?” Cindy said.

  “Impressed? A man like that should be running this country,” Mark said. “Not Harley Phillips! Or any of the others. Not even me.”

  “An Amish president?” Cindy laughed at the thought.

  “Oh, I’m not saying him, per se. I know that’s impossible. The Amish don’t get involved in national politics. But someone like him,” Mark said. “Someone with that kind of common sense and Lincoln-like wisdom.”

  “You’re like that.” Cindy smiled.

  “Not even close.”

  “WHAT’RE YOU THINKING ABOUT?” ELIZABETH ASKED JOSIAH AS they sat on their porch swing drinking a glass of sweet tea.

  “The barn raising this weekend.”

  “Too bad Mark couldn’t have stayed for that. He probably would’ve liked watching it.”

  “Watching it? I would’ve put him to work.” Josiah laughed.

  “You really enjoyed his company, jah?”

  “He was an interesting fellow. Hope he made it home all right. So are you still wanting to go over to Sister Burkholder’s?”

  “Jah. I made some fried pies for her today.”

  “You made extra, right?”