Seasons of Tomorrow

by Cindy Woodsmall

  “Samuel, it’s lovely.” Since they liked to end their day sitting outside when weather permitted, it was perfect for them, but how could she accept such a gift? “I … know this sounds odd, but it’s easier when we argue and yell.”

  “And I’m all for making your life as easy as possible.” He smiled. “You know, through yelling.” He pulled out a barstool for her. “Just not today.”

  But she knew he preferred not to argue. It was just necessary when two strong-willed people with heavy-duty opinions had a relationship. She returned to the table. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

  “The furniture I ordered via phone and had it delivered. Landon drove me to the store where I bought the cake and candles. And Phoebe made the dinner. So nothing I did was all that remarkable. But you are free to count my actions every bit as amazing as you wish. It is, after all, your birthday.”

  She laughed. He smiled and bowed his head. She finished her silent prayer before he did, so she waited. When he was done and looked up, she took a bite of the baked chicken and noodles. “I love this dish.”

  “Ya, Phoebe said it was your favorite.” He used a napkin to wipe the Alfredo sauce from his lips. “Did she cook this last year and I had no idea it was your birthday?”

  “Ya.” Several months ago she’d told him her birth date, explaining that since her sister was killed on their Daed’s birthday, her whole family had stopped celebrating those days.

  Emma’s death had shattered far more than their hearts. It had broken traditions and celebrations. It had stolen sleep and peace. What it didn’t steal, it buried under their shock and grief. Her family simply learned how to maneuver with missing limbs.

  Her eyes met Samuel’s, and sadness and guilt faded as love for him captured every thought. Her heart pounded.

  Samuel swiped the back of his thumb across his forehead. “Did you create a new recipe today?”

  She laughed. “Only if you count the ones that list what not to do.”

  He smiled. “Life needs those too, doesn’t it?”

  The conversation moved slowly as they ate. The ends of Samuel’s usually straight hair curled into ringlets as it dried from the melted snow. “It’s after ten, Rhoda. Once we eat and clean up, you need to call it a night, okay?”

  “It’s that late?”

  He nodded.

  She bit her bottom lip, hoping to tease him while keeping a straight face. “Then why didn’t you bring me dinner sooner?”

  “Because you messed up my plans. Gross dank.”

  “You’re very welcome. Anytime you need anything messed up, I’m your girl.”

  Amusement danced in his eyes. “How is it that I like the sound of that at the same time I don’t like the sound of that?”

  “Because you confuse easily.” She raised one eyebrow, aiming to look defiant.

  “Birthday girl or not, don’t give me any lip … uh, eyebrow. I had planned this celebration to be at the house, and I kept waiting on you to arrive, but you never came home.”

  The man was going to drive her crazy, making her feel so unworthy of his kindness, so she decided to do what she did best in these situations—push back. “That’s not true. As long as I’m on this farm, I am home.”

  He grinned, looking as if she’d given him a gift. “I apologize for lying.”

  “And well you should.” She waved her fork in the air. She noticed there was a lumpy blanket over one of the worktables. “Samuel King, have you done something else?”

  “Two things, actually.”

  She pointed at him. “Do not make me yell at you.”

  Samuel laughed. “But I’m so good at it.” His lopsided smile melted her heart. She giggled, nodding in agreement. Thankfully, when they argued, he neither caved because he loved her nor tried to bend her will to his because she was only a woman. He fought fair, and she appreciated it … eventually.

  She eyed the long workbench, noting that whatever was under the king-size blanket was quite bulky. “What is it?”

  “Go see if you must.”

  She crossed the room and removed the blanket. Was she looking at a new kind of apple butter stirrers … automatic ones?

  Samuel stayed seated. “They’re not really a birthday gift, but since they arrived yesterday, I thought I’d surprise you with them.”

  “Are they automated stirrers?”

  “Ya. It’ll take some time to set them up, but they’ll run off solar power, and you’ll be able to set a timer.”

  “Samuel, this had to cost a fortune.”

  “It’ll save you enough time and backbreaking work to be more than worth it. I would’ve gotten them in time for last year’s harvest, but they had to be specially made to fit our Old Order Amish harvest kitchen.”

  “Denki.”

  He nodded, and from seemingly nowhere Samuel slid a gift across the table. “It’s not much.”

  She returned to the table and eased it from him. “Samuel, what else have you done?”

  “Open it and find out.”

  She sat and turned it over, enjoying the beauty and smooth texture of the wrapping paper. It felt like a book of some kind. She wouldn’t blame him if it were a cookbook. She could hardly make anything other than recipes to can. At least those came out delicious and sold really well, shoring up her waning confidence when it came to the kitchen.

  As Rhoda opened the gift, she realized it was a photo album. “Well, aren’t you the bold one? An Amish man giving pictures as a gift.”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely telling.” She winked before flipping through it, seeing images Iva had taken—pictures of her niece and nephew; of the orchard; of everyone eating at the table, all except Iva, who was taking the picture. Most were carefully done, showing no one posing and only a few discreet but full faces. What a beautiful treasure.

  Her heart jumped when she came across a picture from last fall of Samuel with her niece asleep in his lap and her nephew standing at his knees talking to him. She remembered being in the living room with him when this happened. It was a Saturday evening, and she and Samuel were going over business stuff when Arie climbed into his lap and soon fell sound asleep. It’d stolen her heart that day, but she hadn’t realized Iva had taken a picture of it.

  When she turned the page and saw a collage of tiny images, an odd sensation skittered through her. The page blurred for a moment. Was it her imagination, or was God trying to share something with her? As she prayed and ran her finger over the collage, she realized someone from the core group was missing. But every one of them was on that page mere moments ago. The blurry images wavered and shifted before being covered with a black veil. She blinked, and nausea churned. Someone in an Amish dress had disappeared from the page, and the rest were fighting to survive without her.

  Rhoda’s insides quaked, but she wouldn’t share her thoughts with Samuel. She searched the image. It seemed that either Phoebe or Leah was gone. Rhoda couldn’t tell which, but fear ran cold chills down her spine. The missing one wasn’t just living elsewhere. She was beyond being reached by any human method.

  Alarm gripped Rhoda, and she couldn’t swallow.

  Dear God, please let these thoughts just be my imagination.

  FIVE

  The house seemed unusually quiet for a Sunday evening as Leah tiptoed down the stairs. She didn’t have to sneak out, but that was easier than having to meet the eyes of those she shared a home with as she left to attend an Englisch church week after week.

  Her brother and the others knew where she went on Sunday evenings—Unity Hill Church.

  She pulled her coat and scarf off the wooden pegs. Before she opened the front door, Steven walked out of the kitchen, a small plate of banana pudding in one hand and a spoonful of it on its way to his mouth. He spotted her and lowered the spoon. His gentle smile was outweighed by the concern, maybe also disappointment, in his eyes. “That time again, huh?”

  Leah nodded. “I’ll be back
around ten.”

  “Okay.”

  Leah started to open the door.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything, but then again”—Steven crossed the living room, closing the gap between them—“maybe I should. Would you mind if I share a few thoughts … just out of concern?”

  “I’m going to church, Steven. Not to some sinful place.”

  “I know, and I want to like the idea, but it concerns me. We live as we do because we believe it’s the community’s responsibility to live as close to the ways of the New Testament as possible.”

  “And it concerns me that the Amish may be seeking a fulfilling life through giving up who God has made us to be so we can serve a man-made community.”

  “Is Unity Hill less of a man-made community than the Amish community?” Steven stood there, the expression on his face indicating deep humility, but his eyes radiated desperation that she would hear him this time. “The Word says to ‘lead a quiet and peaceable life’ and not to be ‘conformed to this world.’ ”

  She had no doubts that his concern was genuine. “We agree on what the Word says, Steven. It’s how one accomplishes those goals that divides us. Rather than the Ordnung dictating how I should live, isn’t it possible the decision should be between each individual and God, just as salvation is?”

  His gentle smile wavered. “Perhaps. But there is strength in numbers, in banding together against the onslaught of worldliness. What are a few rules when one is surrounded by such a rich culture of faith and unbroken families?”

  Steven never went for the jugular. He stayed steadfast and gentle. She knew too many church leaders who would point fingers and sling the phrase “you’re going to hell for …” A lot of things could fill that spot—embracing the Englisch lifestyle or not submitting to her Daed’s wishes, just to mention two.

  Steven finally took a bite of his pudding. “You stay safe. I think we’re supposed to get more snow later tonight.”

  “We’ll drive slowly.” She slid into her coat. “Bye.”

  She scurried to Landon’s truck and climbed in. “Sorry.” She shivered. “I had almost made it out the door when I got held up by Steven.”

  “Not a problem.” Landon pulled out of the driveway. “Was it?”

  “No. Steven’s as careful with his words as I’m trying to be with mine.”

  When time allowed, she and Landon had attended Unity Hill on Sunday nights for nearly a year and a half. A few months back they sat in his truck in the church parking lot, talking about faith and their hopes until nearly midnight. And then they prayed together, giving their hearts and lives to Christ. The prayer didn’t change or solidify anything about their future together. They agreed on that. The prayer meant they were both new creatures in Christ, just as it said in Second Corinthians chapter 5. That night, bathed in the forgiveness and hope of Christ, Leah knew that with a past like hers, she’d already received far more than she deserved.

  But she had no clue how to pull away from her family or how to leave the family business when they needed her.

  Landon pressed the brakes hard. “Whoa.” He pointed out the window at a large moose crossing the road.

  “We spot more moose than anyone I know.”

  They started talking and never paused until they were walking through the church doors. They went to the classroom where the young adults met. The topic for the last six months had been discipleship. After that they listened to the preacher teach from the pulpit on the grace of God. This was her favorite topic: “There is therefore now no condemnation to them …” Her heart pounded with excitement. This pastor used numerous historical books and discussed the best translation of words from the original Hebrew and Aramaic. The teachings were so different from those in the Amish church. It fascinated her, and yet she could see how the Word for each—the Amish and the Englisch—was built on faith and had merit.

  After the last song they walked to the front steps of the church.

  Pastor Weld stood about halfway down the stairs, telling folks good-bye. He held out his hand to Leah. “It’s always good to see you two.”

  Leah shook his weathered hand. “We enjoy coming.”

  “Good.” He shook Landon’s hand. “Would you mind if I made a home visit one day?”

  Landon hesitated. “You could come to my place anytime.”

  “Yes, only your place, Landon. I should’ve thought to clarify my meaning.” Pastor Weld lowered his voice. “I understand the complexities of Leah’s family being Amish and the need for discretion.”

  “Exactly.” Landon nodded. “Do you need my address?”

  A horse and buggy slowed on the main street right in front of the church. Leah suddenly wished she were invisible. Since she and Landon were under the church’s floodlights, whoever was in that rig could see Landon and her clearly. But with it being dark, she couldn’t see who was in the rig.

  “You filled out a card about a year ago.” The pastor pulled a pair of leather gloves out of his pocket and put them on. “Do you still live in the same place?”

  “Yeah.” Landon glanced at her and then to the road.

  The pastor looked in that direction. “Then I’ll use that information.”

  As the horse picked up speed, Leah could see the back of the rig. It had a spot of black paint, a repaired area that she recognized. The buggy belonged to Crist. He was probably joy riding a bit after tonight’s singing. Since there were a few new girls in the settlement, he likely had a girl with him.

  Would he cause trouble for her and Landon? Those within her household kept her rumschpringe ways quiet. If her parents realized what she was up to, there was no telling what they’d do to stop her.

  “We’d better go.” Landon nodded to the pastor, and then he put his arm protectively around the waist of her coat as if that would somehow shield her from the firestorm that might come her way. But the gesture was sweet and a first, so she slowed her pace, enjoying feeling loved and cherished.

  Once in the truck Landon started the engine. “Any idea who was in the rig?”

  “Probably Crist. It was his buggy.”

  “He might not say anything, but if he does, how much strife will it stir?”

  “Hard to tell. I don’t know the new families very well, and what happens depends on how angry people get after they learn I dress like the Englisch when I go to church here.” If the news got back to her parents, they’d try to pull her home, but it was borrowing trouble to worry about that, so why voice it to Landon?

  He leaned back against the headrest. “I suppose we knew someone outside Orchard Bend Farms would find out sooner or later.”

  “Yeah, but I always opt for later.”

  “Me too … for your sake.”

  But she knew he also wanted to protect Rhoda. If Leah got in trouble, Landon would too, and Rhoda could be forced to let him go.

  There were so many reasons they needed their relationship to remain as private as possible. So many people they both cared about might pay an unfair price. As much as they tried to act as if their future would work itself out, their lives were entangled with the strictness of the Old Ways, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it.

  SIX

  Jacob’s breath formed white clouds as he drove the wagon of lumber through the darkened back streets of town. It wasn’t a very big town, and it closed up tight before seven on weeknights. Even the diner served only the breakfast and lunch crowds before locking its doors.

  But he had too much restless energy and too little social life to stop work because of nightfall. Without any family or real friends around … The half thought threw darts at him, and he refused to finish it. But he couldn’t get free of how he felt.

  Something on the sidewalk more than a block ahead caught his eye. He focused on it and could make out a silhouette of a black bonnet on someone who was crouched, perhaps messing with a crate of some sort on the ground. Other than this woman the streets were empty of cars, rigs, and people.

  B
ut even if they were filled with folks, he’d be just as isolated. Still, the worst of the hurt from the breakup had been behind him for months now. The problem was that, unlike heartache, loneliness couldn’t be fixed by time passing. It actually grew wider and deeper and darker—like an unattended sinkhole, he imagined.

  Distraction seemed to be the only pardon granted from the depth of his loneliness. So he’d started attending singings a couple of months ago. How else would he find the right person? He’d even gone on a few dates. But—

  The shadowy woman stood, grabbed the box, and hurried toward the crosswalk. Apparently she wasn’t going to stop at the curb. Couldn’t she hear the clippety-clop of his horse?

  “Whoa.” Jacob tugged hard on the reins, trying to halt the rig quickly. The phone in his coat pocket vibrated, but he couldn’t look right now to see who was calling.

  Maybe the woman’s problem was her black bonnet, which seemed to serve like blinders on a horse. The horse whinnied in protest as Jacob pulled the brakes on the rig. The woman looked up and stopped abruptly, remaining on the curb. He motioned for her to go. She nodded and stepped onto the street. Once she was directly in front of him, a nearby siren blasted.

  His horse jolted. “Begreiflich.”

  A few seconds later blue strobe lights pierced the darkness, and a police car slowed as it passed him.

  His horse lunged forward.

  The woman tried to retreat to the curb, but his horse broke into a gallop.

  “Whoa!”

  Everything blurred. The woman screamed. Metal rattled and plunked. The horse whinnied. Jacob kept yelling whoa.

  Finally the rig stopped some thirty feet down the road. Complete silence filled the air. Had the horse trampled her? It’d all happened too quickly for him to be sure.

  He jumped down and saw the woman sprawled flat on the asphalt, faceup. What appeared to be old doorknobs, handles, and rusty hinges were in disarray around her.

  He ran to her. “Bischtdu allrecht?”