IN PLAIN View

by Olivia Newport

  Maria laughed nervously. “What a rebellious bunch we all turned out to be. Christian must be scandalized.”

  Jacob watched his mother blossom in Maria’s company. On the first morning, they walked to Lisbetli’s grave, where they shared a long cry. Elizabeth cooked meat as fast as Jacob could hunt it and pulled potatoes and vegetables from the cellar at rates reminiscent of the days she was feeding ten children. She insisted Maria sleep late in the mornings and drop off for a nap whenever she wished. Often when Jacob climbed the hill to the big house in the late afternoons, Maria slept on a mat in front of the fire, and Elizabeth watched over her, stitching a new dress for Maria or making over an old dress of Sarah’s. Maria seemed to fatten up by the day and moved with increasing energy. She took long walks with her nieces and nephews, surprising Jacob with visits to the fields or the tannery.

  Jacob measured Maria’s return to health carefully and with pleasure. However, he did not forget that she had come to Irish Creek expecting to find Christian, her only full-blooded brother.

  “It is time, you know,” Jacob said one day when Maria sat at the kitchen table in the home he shared with Katie.

  “Time for what?”

  Her eyes told him she knew the answer. “I will take you to Christian,” he said. “You will enjoy meeting his daughter Magdalena. She looks just like you.”

  Maria looked away. “They probably think I am dead. Considering what I have been doing, perhaps it is better that way.”

  “No, Maria.” Jacob spoke softly. “Bar-bar. Anna. Christian. They all deserve to know what became of you.”

  “If I never saw them, how would that change the way things are now?” Maria said. She stood up and began to pace the kitchen.

  “Because now I know,” Jacob said. “David knows. John knows. Mamm knows. Our children know. You can’t ask us to conspire to deceive the rest of the family. And besides, that is not the point.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You came here to find Christian. It is time you did.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Annie had plenty to keep her busy while she waited for Joel to prove his word. However, Rufus’s chisel would remain within reach every minute. Rufus would believe her account of how she came to have it. If Joel was smart, he would not take three days.

  On Thursday, she prepared for her first sewing lesson. Annie had never been to the home of Betsy Yoder before, but the house seemed especially suited to the task of hosting a group of women with their sewing projects. By the time Annie pedaled to the Yoders’, several buggies stood outside the home, horses hitched to split-rail fencing. Annie’s fabric was folded neatly and laid into the basket hanging from her handlebars. By the end of the day, she hoped, the fabric would be cut according to Franey’s pattern and Annie would have some notion of how the pieces would go together to form a dress.

  Inside, the Amish women greeted her politely, offered refreshments, and suggested a table Annie could use to lay out her fabric. Franey soon appeared with her pattern and hovered while Annie flipped and turned pieces, looking for the most efficient way to lay them out. The process was not entirely foreign to her. Myra Friesen knew her way around a pattern, and Annie had witnessed her going through the basics of ironing the fabric flat, arranging pattern pieces, pinning them down, and carefully cutting. In her software-creating career, Annie had often mentally rotated three-dimensional objects and looked for how the pieces fit together. She did not imagine fitting together sleeves and bodice front and bodice back and skirt and waistband fitting was so different. The women watching her cut remembered aloud the first dresses they had made—some with fondness and some with frustration.

  Edna and Beth Stutzman arrived just before lunch and seemed to take over the room with both conversation and their own projects. When she decided to participate in this day, Annie had steeled herself to expect the Stutzmans. If she was seriously considering becoming Amish, she would have to find a way to be gracious toward the Beilers’ old friends, no matter what Beth had done to her quilt.

  Beth crossed the room where Annie stood at the cutting table. Annie raised her head and looked Beth in the eye with a smile. Beth smoothed her skirt and looked the other direction. Annie managed not to roll her eyes.

  Sandwiches and salads appeared on a long narrow side table in the Yoder dining room. Annie set aside the puzzle of fabric, leaving Franey at work while she left to fix a plate. She sat off to one side, where she could quietly marvel at her own involvement in an event such as this one. A year ago she had not even heard of Westcliffe, Colorado. Her own family history was a blur that did not interest her. She was wealthy and likely to become more wealthy. Her life was a string of conveniences and serial immediate gratification.

  On the outside, Annie hardly recognized her life now. The inside was another matter. When familiar impulses welled, the challenge of forming new responses loomed. Humility, humility, humility, Annie reminded herself, even as she followed Beth’s movements around the open, connected rooms.

  Beth filled a plate. Annie watched her situate a chair where she could see clearly around the ragged circle.

  “It’s terrible what happened to that man Karl Kramer.” Beth rearranged the pickles on her plate. “I’ve heard he’s not a nice man at all, but it’s awful that someone would want to hurt him.”

  Murmurs of agreement rose around the room.

  “The English don’t understand our peaceful ways, I suppose.” Beth paused to take a delicate bite out of a turkey sandwich. “Certainly I will never understand why they feel the need to blow each other up.” She shifted her head toward Annie and raised one eyebrow.

  Annie forced food into her mouth to keep herself from speaking. Someone had put too much mustard on the ham sandwich. The spicy kind. It stung her tongue, and her eyes watered.

  “The English police will sort it out,” someone said.

  “It does seem to be taking a long time,” someone else observed. “I’m not sure I understand why. It’s been three days.”

  “Many people would have a motive against Mr. Kramer.”

  “They have several suspects, I heard,” Beth said. She gave Annie a colorless smile. “But I believe one in particular is coming to the forefront. At a time like this, I take comfort in belonging to people of peace.”

  Annie nearly choked on the bread she was stuffing in her mouth.

  “I understand you are very technical, Annalise.” Beth had both eyebrows raised now. “What kinds of explosions have you been involved with?”

  Annie licked her lips and turned to Mrs. Yoder. “The sandwiches are delicious.” She chewed harder.

  “If it were an Amish matter,” someone said, “we could take it to the bishop. I’m sure he could get to the bottom of it.”

  “But of course this is not an Amish matter.” Beth took another bite and glared again at Annie. “Annalise, even as an outsider to our ways, you can see that it is plain silly to think our people had anything to do with this unfortunate incident.”

  Annie filled her mouth again.

  Beth picked up a pickle slice. “The bishop’s time would be better spent reminding our men of their duty to the community.”

  Chew. Chew. Chew.

  “Rufus Beiler, for instance,” Beth said. “Why would he wait as long as he has to obey God’s will and marry?”

  A couple of young women giggled. Annie drew in a long, slow, spicy mustard breath.

  Edna Stutzman spoke up. “You are right as usual, Beth. I will speak to your father myself, and he will speak to the bishop. Rufus Beiler is a dear young man, and we should not sit by idly while his faith weakens.”

  Annie’s chewing slowed. Picking on her was one thing. But picking on Rufus? No amount of demut would allow her to listen to any more of this drivel.

  The bishop. She swallowed. Yes, Bishop Troyer.

  Annie took her plate to the kitchen, gathered up her dress pieces, expressed her gratitude to the hostess, promised Franey she would talk to her soon, a
nd looked Beth in the eye one last time.

  This was the first time Annie ever pedaled to the Troyers’ farm, and she misjudged the miles. By the time she arrived, wind had stung her face red and dirt streaked the hem of her dress. Even under a helmet—which she had come to realize was not a very Amish device—her kapp was hanging behind her head, hair straggling out of its pins. Annie paused at the gate that marked the bishop’s yard and tried to put herself back together before knocking on the front door.

  The bishop was a minister, right? She could talk to him confidentially and make him aware that certain members were using the sewing day to spread gossip. Maybe she would not even need to name names. Just raise a concern. She was not a complete snitch, after all.

  Mrs. Troyer welcomed her, and Annie gratefully accepted the offer of a glass of water. Sipping it, she sat alone in an unadorned parlor while the bishop’s wife went to fetch her husband. Annie used the time to catch her breath as well as collect her thoughts. She would not have to accuse anyone of anything directly. A few plain facts would reveal whether he leaned toward any particular conclusion—on both gossip and explosions.

  A few minutes later, bearded and attired in a black suit, the bishop greeted Annie with a smile.

  “Annalise, I am so glad you’ve come.”

  Had he been expecting her? she wondered. Maybe he knew more than she realized.

  “I thought you would be the right person to talk to about all this,” she said.

  “Of course. I did not realize you knew about the classes yet. I did not want to presume you were ready until you came forward.”

  Classes?

  “Baptism classes will begin in four weeks,” the bishop said as he took a seat across from her. “We usually meet while the rest of the congregation is worshipping.”

  Baptism classes?

  “Well, of course, I’ve been thinking about it,” Annie said. The bishop seemed so delighted to see her. How could she tell him she thought some Amish boys were not living up to the peaceful reputation of their people? Or that the women of his flock were gossiping?

  “Your case is unusual, of course.” The bishop planted his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “The other baptism candidates are all younger and have grown up in Amish homes, so I hope you will feel free to ask any questions at all. I’m happy to answer them.”

  “Thank you. That’s good to know.” Annie squirmed in her chair.

  “Baptism is an important step in our church. If you feel you need extra sessions to understand our faith, I’m sure we can arrange them.”

  “Thank you. I know your time is valuable.” Her repeated gratitude encouraged his smile. Annie’s brain fumbled for a way to change the subject.

  “I want you to feel fully convinced of our ways of humility and submission before you’re baptized.”

  The door from the kitchen opened, and the bishop’s wife appeared. “I am sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but the bishop is already late for a previous appointment.”

  The bishop stood. “Annalise and I have had a good talk. She is going to join our new baptism class.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Annie waited.

  She heard nothing from Joel on Thursday. In her mind, the conversation with Bishop Troyer replayed, and she kept hitting the Stop and Rewind buttons to listen again. Baptism had been the last thing on her mind when she showed up at the bishop’s house. Was it Gottes wille, God’s will, that the discussion had taken such a turn and she had not regained control?

  Mrs. Weichert had scheduled her to work Friday morning. Annie opened the shop earlier than scheduled. If Joel was looking for her and did not find her at home, he would come to the shop. At the very least, she hoped he would give her some clue that evening when she joined the Beilers for the evening meal.

  Annie was not sure if the ticking she heard was from a clock at the back of the shop or her own brain measuring out Joel’s delay. By 11:00, no one else had come into the shop all morning. She sat on a stool behind the counter, hunched over her interlibrary loan genealogy book.

  Pioneer Jakob Beyeler, immigrant from Switzerland in 1737, spawned two family lines. Rufus and Ruth descended from Christian, Amish leader of the eighteenth century. Annie descended from Jacob II, as he was known in the genealogy books— not Amish. The original Amish settlements in Pennsylvania surely were seeking a reprieve from the persecution of Europe. But July 4, 1776, must have changed the North American climate for the Amish. War. The notion of the decisions Pioneer Jakob’s sons must have faced during the Revolutionary War intrigued Annie, propelling her search through the book for any mention, any scrap of a mention, suggesting the political affiliations of her ancestors.

  The distraction was successful. Another hour and a half passed in silence. When the shop’s bell finally announced a customer, Annie startled and nearly fell off her stool.

  Rufus nodded at the three English men standing in the middle of the aisle at Tom’s hardware store and stepped past them as politely as he could. He had only come in for some sandpaper. He took five packages, in three different grits, off the racks and moved toward the front of the store. Tom was at the counter dumping change into one of the two cash register drawers.

  “I’m not used to seeing you in here.” Rufus laid the sandpaper on the counter.

  “It’s still my store,” Tom said. “I lost Colton to the lure of the big city. He gave me barely three days’ notice and moved to Pueblo.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I liked him.”

  Tom picked up the sandpaper. “Are you putting this on account?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  The trio from the aisle migrated forward.

  “You’re Rufus Beiler, aren’t you?” one of them asked.

  Rufus turned. “Yes, that’s right.”

  The man extended a hand. “Hayes Demming.”

  Rufus shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “We’ve been wondering when you’re going to get that community project moving.”

  Rufus glanced from one face to another. “No doubt you heard Karl Kramer was injured. He needs time to heal.”

  “We were all set to help. Still want to.”

  “I appreciate that. I’m sure Karl will as well.”

  “I’ve been talking to businesses around town,” Hayes said. “Every day more people are on the fence. If you wait much longer, you won’t have the help you need.”

  “We must wait for Karl,” Rufus said firmly. “I gave him my word we would work together.”

  “That was before the explosion. Do you really think he expects the entire town to wait for him?”

  “I don’t presume to know what he expects,” Rufus said. “I only know what I promised.”

  “The window is going to slam shut,” Hayes said. “I’d hate for the whole project to go bust after all the hard work that has gone into it already.”

  “I hope that does not happen.” Rufus picked up his sandpaper.

  “Rufus,” Tom said, “perhaps you should reconsider. There’s a lot at stake.”

  “Talk to Karl,” Hayes suggested. “It’s your project more than it is his. Maybe he’ll understand.”

  Rufus tilted his head. “I don’t think we should be bothering Karl right now—certainly not to ask him to back out.”

  “He wouldn’t be backing out so much as stepping aside. If he really cares about the project, he’ll want it to move forward.”

  “When the time is right, it will move forward.”

  Hayes shook his head. “Okay, but don’t be surprised if it’s you and Kramer carrying the whole load.”

  “Thank you for the conversation, gentlemen.” Rufus touched the brim of his hat.

  The men drifted back down the aisle.

  Tom pushed the cash register drawer closed. “Are you sure, Rufus? This is no time to be stubborn.”

  “Gottes wille,” Rufus said softly. God’s will. He picked up his sandpaper and stepped out into the sunlight.

  A
flash of Amish black caught his eye, and he blinked in the direction of the moving form.

  Joel.

  Rufus made up his mind in that moment. Joel was not his son, but someone had to talk to him.

  Rufus moved quickly down the sidewalk. Only when he was close enough that Joel could not claim not to have heard him did Rufus call out his brother’s name.

  Joel stopped and turned.

  “I did not know you were planning to come into town,” Rufus said. “I would have asked you to make a few purchases and spared myself the trip.”

  “I didn’t plan,” Joel said. “Something came up.”

  “Oh?” Rufus wrinkled his forehead. “Is everything all right in the fields?”

  “The fields are fine.” Joel shifted his weight.

  “Is everything all right between you and Daed?” Rufus nudged Joel a few steps down a side street.

  “Of course.”

  “Daed has been very patient with you.” Rufus crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps even to the point of indulgence.”

  “I get my work done.” Joel moved his brown eyes to scan the street in both directions.

  “What are you looking for, Joel?” Rufus did not waver.

  Now Joel’s eyes fastened on Rufus. “It’s nothing.”

  Annie left the shop mumbling, Demut, demut, demut. She had finally convinced Mrs. Weichert to send her weekly ad to the newspaper in electronic format, and now the editor claimed the file had corrupted and insisted Annie must come to the publication’s office and straighten things out. She tucked a printed copy of the ad in a folder just in case and set out down the block.

  Two black hats, brims nearly touching to form a single platform, made her stop. She took two steps back and pressed herself against the brick wall of a shop to listen.

  “It’s nothing,” Joel said.

  “It does not seem like nothing, Joel,” Rufus said. “You miss a lot of meals. You go into town without telling anyone. You don’t seem interested in the farm. I see the looks Daed and Mamm give each other at dinner.”