by Reed, N. C.
“I had not thought to ask,” Isaac admitted. “I had merely thought to appease Ruth and rest for a time, perhaps even a day. The horses need rest, as do Mary and the child. It would not hurt any of us, in truth.”
“That is true,” Abram nodded. “I did not want to suggest it, but Mary is flagging. She is very tired, and nursing simply makes it worse for her. I do not imagine it does little John any better.”
“I should think not,” Isaac nodded. “We can always see if he still lives, and if his farm is still in his hands. Perhaps it is.”
“Perhaps.”
-
“Yeah, that’s Isaac Miller,” Greg said gently as he and Clay watched from cover. “I don’t know who that young man is, but the girls are Isaac’s daughters. I hate to think what has spurred them to leave their farm, man. It’s a good piece of ground, good house and good barn. He did all kinds of different things for their community.”
“What kind of things?” Clay asked, suddenly interested.
“Well, he makes wheels for one thing,” Greg told him. “Wagon wheels, I mean. That and wagons too, but that’s not nearly as often. Fair hand at carpentry for that matter. Helped his brother run a sawmill, I think, but don’t hold me to that one. He may not have been involved in that. Builds nice furniture when he’s got nothing else going on.”
“What kind of furniture?” Clay wanted to know.
“Well, he makes porch furniture, dining tables and chairs, and bedroom suits. All the old-fashioned way, so it’s not always popular with us ‘English’, as he calls us.”
“Who is us?”
“Anyone who isn’t Amish and in good standing with their church,” Greg shrugged. “It was all I could do to get him to stop using ‘Yankee’. He hails from a place in Ohio where that’s what they call outsiders. Yankees. I explained how that wouldn’t really fly here and he started using English, which is what the majority apparently call us. I say apparently because he’s not exactly forthcoming with information about their way of living. They are a tight-lipped people for the most part.”
“Looks like it’s just him and his immediate family,” Clay pointed out. “Not so closed off now, I guess.”
“Doesn’t look it,” Greg nodded. “Well, he’s almost to the road. Want to let him get inside the tree line, or meet him out there?”
“Let them get into the tree line,” Clay decided. “That way no one else sees them and wonders what’s up here.”
-
“You know this place, Papa?” Ruth asked as they left the interstate and started down the small country lane. “The town is the other way.”
“We are not going to the town, child,” Isaac was shaking his head. “They have likely faired no better than we did, assuming the devil’s minions made it this far. They will not want visitors. This way leads to the farm of a Yankee I know. As I told Abram, he is a good and God-fearing man, even if he is an outsider. He may allow us to camp for a day or two, and his farm will have plentiful water if nothing else. If he has it to spare, he will probably offer us food.”
“That sounds good, Papa,” Ruth replied, nodding her head. “I may like this man already,” she smiled.
“Don’t like him too much,” Isaac warned. “He is still a Yankee, whatever his good traits may be.”
“Yes, Papa,” she replied. “What will we-,” She stopped as she realized her father had stopped dead still in the road.
“What’s the matter, Papa?” she asked, trying to look around him. When she finally managed it, she froze. There were two armed men in the road, facing them.
“You folks look as if you’ve traveled a piece,” one said. “If you’re peaceful, we can offer you water and place to rest. Maybe a hot meal.”
“We are always peaceful, Ya-, English,” Isaac replied. “I was looking for a man I know by the name of Gordon Sanders. He once lived nearby.”
“Still does,” the speaker nodded, his voice friendly. “I’m his son, Clayton. You’ll be wanting to see him, I reckon?”
“I…if possible, that would be good, yes,” Isaac replied, mind working quickly. If these two meant to cause trouble, there would be no escape for anyone.
“Okay,” Clayton replied with a nod. “You want to all go up together, or just you?”
“I would prefer we stay together, if possible,” Isaac admitted.
“Sure,” Clayton nodded. “Y’all need any help?”
“I believe we can manage but thank you.”
“Sure thing. Come on along and we’ll see if we can find Dad. Probably at the barn this time of day.”
Isaac followed, leading his family into what he hoped was the land of a friendly man and family.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gordon had just finished caring for his horse when he looked up to see Clay coming toward him with a familiar face.
“Isaac Miller,” Gordon called, wiping his hands on a shop rag as he stepped outside the barn to meet the coming group. “Long time since I seen you, Isaac.”
“Indeed, Gordon Sanders,” Isaac didn’t allow his relief at being openly welcomed to show. The two men shook hands, then Gordon looked past Isaac and frowned at seeing his family.
“Isaac, have you suffered a misfortune?” Gordon asked carefully. He didn’t want the other man to feel offended or that Gordon was butting into his personal business.
“I am afraid so, Gordon,” Isaac admitted freely. “Most of our entire community was overrun and destroyed. My home and barns are gone, as are most of my tools and supplies. We have managed to survive the winter, but there is nothing left for us where we were. We are moving north to try and start again, if possible.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Isaac,” said Gordon. “All of it,” he added to clarify. “It’s none of my business I guess, but your daughter looks about done in, Isaac. Why don’t you let us put you up for a few days to rest and regroup a bit? She’s got a young one, so she likely needs a good meal or two and some rest.”
“I would not presume upon you, Gordon Sanders,” Isaac said formally. “If you could but let us camp somewhere near water, we will be fine.”
“Isaac, it’s no presumption to take care of a good man and his family,” Gordon shook his head. “For that matter, it’s a Christian duty even if it was to be an imposition. Now, let’s have no more talk about this. Would you be willing to allow our doctor to take a look at your daughter? For that matter, all of you should see her and get a checkup. I know you don’t normally use our English physicians, but you should make an exception at least this once. Meanwhile, we’ll set to finding you a good place to lay your heads while Angela and some of the others get to cooking.”
“I do not-,” Isaac began but Ruth stepped in front of him suddenly.
“We accept, Mister Sanders, and offer our thanks,” she said formally, then curtsied. “You are a good and kind man, and I will pray that the Lord blesses you for your benevolence.”
“Thank you, young lady,” Gordon smiled gently. “Clayton, will you see to their arrangements while I see your mother?”
“Sure,” Clay nodded. “Mister Miller, there’s a guest house just up the hill from here. We can corral your horses behind the buildings at the old Troy farm and have our vet check them for you. We’ll keep them there in isolation from our herds. I can get a truck and some help to move your things, or you can use your wagon and then bring the horses back down. Whatever you prefer.”
-
“I expected you would raise hell when Gordon offered them a place to stay,” Greg mentioned idly as he and Clayton returned to the Troy farm.
“Man, that girl has an infant,” Clayton complained. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
“Didn’t say it was bad, now did I?” Greg noted. “I’m not knocking you either way, dude. I just figure you got something in mind, that’s all.”
“So, now I’ve gone from being predictable to transparent?” Clay snorted.
“Do you?” Greg pressed.
“Yeah,” Clay chu
ckled, shaking his head. “Even if I didn’t, I would have suggested letting them stay at least until they were rested. But, if Miller can do all you say he can, then he would make a great addition to our little community, wouldn’t he? Think of what he can teach us, man. Over and above what he can do himself. How good would it be to have another carpenter, let alone someone who can create furniture like that? See what I mean?”
“I do,” Greg nodded. “And don’t forget that wheelwright thing, either. One day sooner than we want to imagine, we’ll be needing wagons like that. Building those wheels is a dying art.”
“Honestly, we probably don’t need wagons like that for a time,” Clay mused. “We can build wagons out of dead trucks. Use their beds, like in the old days?”
“Good idea,” Greg nodded. “Be a lot easier to ride in, that’s for sure.”
“Right?”
-
“Would you care for more, child?” Angela asked Ruth Miller. The girl looked at her, but hesitated, glancing at her father.
“This is my table, young lady,” Angela noted primly. “The only permission you need here is mine. I’m sure your father will agree to that, since this is my kitchen,” she glanced at Isaac, who chuckled a bit.
“A wise man never argues with the cook,” he told his daughter. “Do as you like, child, but mind your manners.”
“Yes, Papa,” Ruth smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Sanders,” she smiled shyly at the matriarch of the Sanders’ clan.
“You’re quite welcome, dear.”
-
“You’re dehydrated, exhausted, and on the verge of malnutrition,” Lieutenant Candida Guerrero told Mary Troyer quietly. The Physician’s Assistant had arrived on the farm with Lieutenant Flores’ group and had never looked back, inserting herself neatly into the clinic and then into her new community.
“John is also bordering on malnutrition, but is in better shape than you are,” she continued. “You were right on the verge of negatively impacting his physical and perhaps mental development, but we’ve caught that in time to make sure he gets the vitamins and minerals he needs to catch up. Mostly that means ensuring that you get those vitamins so that you can pass them along as you feed him. We can manage that just through a better diet than you’ve been getting, I feel certain. This place has good food, and some of the best cooks I’ve ever seen. I bet I’ve gained ten pounds since I got here. Mostly right here,” she slapped the seat of her pants.
Mary had nodded to acknowledge that she understood what she had been told but remained silent. She managed not to show her surprise at the other woman’s blatant reference to her…to herself, and her weight gain.
“You okay, sweetie?” Guerrero asked, noticing that Mary seemed to be a little off balance. “I know it can be a little overwhelming, but don’t worry. You’ll be alright, I promise. This place is as safe as any place in the world can be nowadays. Around here, anyway. So, try not to worry about anything except your health and the health of your baby. I promise we’ll take good care of you both,” she smiled brightly.
Mary managed to return the smile, albeit tiredly. She had lived in near terror for so long that she was almost completely exhausted. Spent. The release of so much tension was suddenly overwhelming for Mary, and before she realized it, she was sobbing, her face cradled in her hands.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she heard Guerrero’s voice say, though it sounded dim and distant to her ears.
“You’ll be fine, I promise, and so will your son,” was the last thing she heard before her world faded away.
-
“I would like to see my wife and son, please,” Abram Troyer said. He was standing in the clinic, openly concerned at the absence of his wife and child.
“Quietly now, Mister Troyer,” Guerrero shushed him with a finger to her lips. “This way,” she led him behind a privacy screen. Troyer looked almost hesitant to follow a woman not his wife to such a secluded place but did so. Behind the screen he found Mary, sleeping on a bed and holding John in her arms. She had obviously had the opportunity to clean up and was wearing a gown provided by the clinic.
“What is the problem?” he demanded.
“Quietly, I said,” Guerrero reminded him. “Come with me,” she ordered, and Abram Troyer had no problem recognizing it was an order. While a man grown among his own people, in the English world he was still under-age. Merely seventeen, he was easily intimidated by strong people when outside his comfort zone. That comfort zone had been destroyed a few months before, leaving him with a young wife and baby and no way remaining to provide for them.
Following the woman in the camouflage uniform, he was soon near a long bench against the wall, where the woman propped one boot up on the bar beneath the desk area.
“Your wife is suffering from malnutrition, dehydration and just pure exhaustion, Mister Troyer,” Candid Gurrero informed him. “Once she figured out that she was safe, at least for the moment, she broke down in tears and passed out from exhaustion. Simple as that.”
“While her situation is bordering on serious, we’ve caught it before it became that way,” she continued. “Good food, rest, and safety will do her a great deal of good. I expect she’ll be fine within a week or so, other than it will take a bit longer for her to recover from the malnutrition, mostly due to her nursing John. She will be fine, however, Lord willing, so far as these problems are concerned, anyway. I can’t speak to the future, of course.”
Hearing the oddly dressed woman refer to the Lord had given Abram a sense of comfort he hadn’t known he needed until he had it. He suddenly felt as if everything was going to be alright.
“I am indebted to you, ma’am,” he bowed slightly. “Thank you for caring for my family.”
“It’s what I do, Mister Troyer,” Guerrero smiled brightly. “But you’re quite welcome.”
-
“Are you going to argue with me if I offer Isaac a place here for him and his family?” Gordon asked Clay as the two leaned against a rail fence that decorated the front area of the pad in front of Building Two.
“No, of course not,” Clay replied, frowning. “Why would you even ask that?”
“Clayton, you have rarely done anything we’ve asked of you without arguing since this all started,” Gordon reminded him.
“I’ve argued over doing stupid shit that was destined to get some of us killed,” Clay retorted, brow creased in borderline anger. “Like going to the church, where, if you recall, we were actually attacked and your gift of food was looked upon as too little, and you were told that people would be calling upon us each week for our ‘contribution’. Remember that?”
“I remember,” Gordon nodded, acknowledging the hit.
“At the place we’re at now, there’s no point in refusing someone who can be an asset to our community,” Clay calmed a bit at that. “In fact, we should be searching them out, or at least watching for them to come by. I had entertained the idea of doing just that, in fact. Going out on patrols to look for people who would be a good fit for us and could offer us something in return.”
“And those who can’t?” Gordan asked, eyebrow raised.
“How many of them do you think we can care for?” Clay didn’t rise to the bait. He’d begun to suspect that his father sometimes did this just to goad him. He wasn’t going to play that game this time.
Gordon’s face reflected the surprise he felt at having the subject tossed back at him like a live grenade. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, then finally closed as he looked to the ground.
“Yeah,” Clay nodded. “When you have to think about it in those terms, it sobers you a bit, don’t it? Welcome to my world, Pop.”
“Suppose I deserve that,” Gordon gave a dry chuckle. “It’s difficult to see those in need and not offer them a hand.”
“Look at this farm, Dad,” Clay waved his arm around them. “How many people are here that honestly have no business being here? I don’t mean that we shouldn’t have them living here. I’m talking
about how many people we’ve taken in other than close friends. It’s a pretty big number. And don’t forget the orphanage and the kids there that we’re responsible for.”
“I get it, Clayton,” Gordon raised a hand in supplication. “Peace, Son.”
“Good luck with that,” Clay snorted. “I get very little peace and almost no quiet.”
-
“Your friend is truly a good man, Papa,” Ruth Miller said quietly as she and her father sat in the living area of the small house the Miller family had been placed in.
“He is not my friend,” Isaac shook his hand. “He is a Ya-, English. Someone I know and have done business with.”
“Does he know that?” Ruth asked, head tilted to one side. “Because I believe he counts you as a friend, Papa. His welcome to you was earnest and heartfelt. His concern for all of us was apparent as well. He has seen to our needs and provided us a safe harbor away from the storm. I would suggest that whether you consider him a friend or not, Mister Gordon definitely considers you one.” She had gotten to her feet and crossed to him as she finished.
“Goodnight, Papa,” she kissed his cheek and disappeared into the room she was sharing with Martha before her father could frame a suitable reply.
Behind her, Isaac thought long and hard about what his daughter had said.
-
Abram Troyer stepped outside of Building Two and stretched himself. The morning was brisk, a typical spring morning in this part of the world. As he stood there, two young men and a young woman, all dressed in military clothing and carrying military gear, walked by him, talking and laughing among themselves. All three nodded polite greetings to him as they passed, which he returned automatically.
“You guys be sure and check the duty roster,” a voice behind him startled Abram. He turned to see another young man, also in his age range, sharpening a knife.
“Got it, Z,” the girl waved as the three deviated from their course to enter the building Abram had just emerged from.
“Busy place, most times,” the man called ‘Z’ noted Abram’s interest. “You’ll get used to it.”
