An Unlikely Amish Match

by Vannetta Chapman

  “That’s not... It’s not how we do things.”

  “How would you know?” His daddi’s voice rose like a wave crashing over them. “How would you know how we do things? You’ve spent the last three days in an Englisch jail.”

  “For something that I didn’t do.”

  “You have only one foot in our world. The other is firmly planted in the Englisch.”

  “That’s your opinion.”

  “Nein, son. It’s a fact, and I will not stand for it any longer.”

  Micah glanced at his mammi. Was that sympathy he saw in her eyes? Perhaps, and yet she didn’t jump to his defense.

  “You will inform Thomas of your decision to join the church on Sunday morning.”

  “I haven’t made that decision yet.”

  “You will inform him on Sunday or before Sunday, or you will find another place to live—perhaps one of your Englisch friends will take you in.”

  His daddi pushed himself up from the table with his one good arm, and that was when Micah noticed that his hand was shaking. He shifted his left shoulder, as if it pained him. Micah had the sudden realization that his daddi was not a young man, that he was aging. He felt a stirring of sympathy for him, which was immediately wiped away by the man’s next words.

  “I’ve given you time, Micah. We all have.”

  “And I have done what you asked.”

  “You think this life is a game of some sort—a long procession of parties and reckless decisions and stepping back and forth across the line that our community has plainly drawn to keep us separate.” He reached for his hat and crammed it on his head. “That is your choice, but I won’t abide it a moment longer. We’ve all coddled you much too long. It’s time for you to make a decision. Choose the life you wish to live.”

  And with that final declaration he stormed out the back door.

  Neither Micah nor his mammi moved. Finally, she sighed and stood, beginning to clear away the dishes.

  “Tell me you don’t agree with him.”

  “Doesn’t matter if I do or not.”

  “It matters to me.”

  Mammi placed the dishes into the sink and stood there for a moment, staring out the window. When she turned back toward Micah, he saw such conflicting emotions in her eyes that it tore at his heart.

  Was this really all his fault?

  Was he tearing his family apart? The memory of his last week at home in Maine threatened to rise, but he quickly pushed it down. They’d understood him little more than his grandparents.

  Instead of lecturing, Mammi walked over to where he sat, pulled a chair up close and sat so that their knees were touching. She reached for his hand and stared down at it a moment. When she finally raised her eyes to his, Micah’s heart sank.

  She was on his daddi’s side.

  He knew what was coming.

  “Your daddi isn’t wrong, not in his intent. Perhaps his presentation could use a little work.” She attempted to smile, but it slid away. “He loves you, Micah. We all do. However, you are twenty-five years old. You’re a man, not a youngie.”

  “I know that.” His throat was suddenly tight. He had to push the words out. “I know I’m not a child.”

  “And yet you so often act like one.”

  Coming from his daddi, the words would have stung. But the words were whispered by his mammi, and the look she gave him? It held only compassion.

  “He’s feeling older these days. The mornings are hard because he wakes so stiff, and then some mornings, like today, the indigestion bothers him.”

  “I’m sorry he isn’t feeling well, but it gives him no right...”

  “It gives him every right. He doesn’t complain, and I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel sorry for him. Though, of course, you should have sympathy for others, especially your family. I’m telling you this so you’ll understand.”

  She ran a wrinkled finger under his suspender, straightening it, and patted his shoulder lightly. “What your daddi understands, which you don’t, is that this life is but a fleeting matter, like a passing mist. You think that you have all the time in the world to decide the course of your life, but none of us has an unlimited amount of time to make our choices. Today is the day for you to make your decision.”

  She patted his shoulder again, then pushed herself into a standing position. That was when Micah knew that all was lost. She would not intervene on his behalf.

  He felt numb all over.

  Why did it seem that everyone was against him?

  First that foolishness about the break-ins, as if he would do such a thing. And now this.

  His daddi was actually going to force him to join the church. He’d actually been considering doing so, but now... To have it dictated to him put a sour taste in his mouth. He couldn’t make a decision like that because someone said he must. It would be a lie.

  The one thing you can give and still keep is your word.

  Thomas’s words came back to him like an arrow to the heart. When he made a decision to join the church, he was giving his word, so he needed to be certain. Didn’t he?

  And what was the alternative?

  Or did he even have one?

  Chapter Twelve

  He spent that afternoon and the next morning in a bit of a fog. He saw Susannah when he stopped by her dat’s farrier shop, but he didn’t speak to her of what was happening with his grandparents. He wasn’t ready. What if she agreed with them?

  There was little work for him in the shop, so he took off early and headed to town to hopefully pick up some Saturday passengers in his buggy service. He lasted less than an hour. After he took one Amish girl to the wrong store, and an Englisch woman asked why they were traveling in a circle around the same block, he knew his mind wasn’t on his work. Apologizing, he dropped her off where they’d started—free of charge.

  He simply couldn’t focus.

  The anger and sense of unfairness grew until he thought that he might explode. He picked up his Amish-taxi sign and made his way back across town, returning the horse and buggy to Widow Miller’s and making his way to his grandparents’ house. There he paced back and forth in the barn for the better part of a half hour.

  Only ten thirty in the morning, and yet it felt like the day had lasted forever. He walked inside, looked around and headed back out. He was barely aware that he’d grabbed his hat from the mudroom, and he didn’t realize he was walking toward Susannah’s until he caught sight of her playing outside with her little schweschdern. Sharon and Shiloh spied him at the same moment and dashed toward him.

  “We found a grass snake in the garden.” Sharon grabbed one of his hands. “We placed rocks around him so that we can watch what he does.”

  “He can’t get away,” Shiloh added, standing close and worrying one hand inside the other. “I was scared at first, but Susannah says it won’t hurt us.”

  He followed them to the edge of the garden. The grass snake was only a few inches long and bright green. He’d probably been sunning himself when the girls had noticed him and quickly built a perimeter—one that the snake would have no trouble sliding over or through, but Micah didn’t bother telling them that.

  “I’m going to get him some grass.” Sharon bounded off toward the edge of the garden.

  “Susannah said he eats frogs. I’m going to see if I can find one.” Shiloh dashed toward the water trough they used to irrigate the garden.

  “Watch out for snakes,” Susannah called from her place at the north end of the garden.

  “Too late for that advice.” Micah plopped down on the ground beside her.

  She rolled her eyes. When he didn’t say anything else and only sat there brooding—that was the only word for it—she bumped her shoulder against his.

  “What’s wrong? Did your favorite baseball team lose last night?”

&n
bsp; “Nein.”

  “I thought you’d be in a fine mood today, since you’re no longer considered the bandit of Goshen.”

  “And yet I’m still the black sheep.” The unfairness of it seemed to press down on him. Why couldn’t people simply accept him like he was? Why couldn’t he be Amish without following every one of their silly rules? Why were rules even necessary?

  “Something has happened.” Instead of pushing him, Susannah waited, which was something she was very good at.

  It was one of the things he appreciated about her. While his mind dashed back and forth, her steady presence helped to calm him down. He stared at the garden for several minutes—a part of his mind hearing the girls giggling over the snake, a part of his mind still back in his grandparents’ kitchen.

  Finally, he blew out a noisy breath and told her everything.

  * * *

  Susannah wasn’t exactly shocked at what Micah told her. She’d suspected such a thing might happen sooner rather than later, but she was disappointed that it had happened the morning after he’d been proved innocent of the break-ins.

  “I’m a little surprised you’re taking it so hard.”

  Micah jumped to his feet and began to pace back and forth. “Taking it hard? I’m about to be thrown out on my own.”

  “Just last week you were talking about having a plan and not being dependent on your grandparents anymore.”

  “But I need more time. I’m not... I’m not ready yet.”

  When she smiled at him, he collapsed on the ground beside her. “Maybe I should have seen this coming. I’m not sure, to tell you the truth.”

  “It seems to me that your grandparents are simply forcing the issue—an issue that you were already thinking about.”

  “They’re saying I have to decide between being Amish or Englisch. That I have to decide now.”

  “They’re saying if you’re going to stay in their home, you have to decide now. No one can force you to make the decision to join the church, Micah. You can take as long as you need, but the process of deciding... Well, it must be hard on them.”

  He flopped onto his back and shielded his eyes against the sun. “I know you’re not on their side. You’ve stood by me through all the ups and downs since I’ve been here. You even visited me at the jail.”

  “Twice.”

  He stole a peek at her and made a valiant effort to keep the perturbed expression on his face. “Twice,” he conceded.

  “You’ve had a difficult week. I definitely think you deserve a break.”

  He pulled up a handful of grass and tossed it at her, and Susannah couldn’t help smiling. He had changed so much from the young man she’d seen step out of an Englischer’s truck in downtown Goshen. He had stepped into adulthood when he’d begun his own business, when he’d begun planning for the future, and certainly when he’d put his integrity over his freedom.

  But the playful Micah lurked underneath, and maybe that was okay, too. Many adults were too serious. She loved that he was able to lighten her mood with a touch or a smile or a silly suggestion. Amish Taxi? She couldn’t believe he’d come up with that. She was beginning to think of him as her Amish rebel. And rebels weren’t such bad things—they kept everyone on their toes, weighing their decisions rather than following blindly along.

  Still, she understood that it was hard to leave the carefree years of rumspringa behind, to embrace being an adult and accept responsibility for all of one’s actions. Her cancer had forced that role upon her earlier than most, and something in Micah’s upbringing had allowed him to put off any such change again and again. Perhaps it was because he was the only son in a family full of daughters. Perhaps it was simply his personality.

  Regardless, she rather agreed with his grandparents that it was time for him to decide. They could have suggested such a thing a bit more tactfully, but John Fisher had never been known for his tact.

  “You refuse to cut me any slack,” Micah muttered.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Nein. I like that you’re honest with me.”

  She shrugged and the look he shot her caused the heat to rise in her cheeks. Just like that, the subject of remaining Amish was behind them, and the playful Micah was back.

  “You worry me when you get that look in your eyes.”

  Sharon picked that moment to dump two handfuls of grass onto Micah’s stomach. He launched himself off the ground, chasing her around the garden until she fell into Susannah’s lap squealing and laughing. Shiloh had plopped down cross-legged beside them and rested her head in the palm of her hand.

  “I think we should take our snake to the pond.”

  “Do you, now?” Susannah reached out to tug on her kapp strings.

  “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” Micah sat up straighter. “But I’ve heard that what snakes really like is rivers—especially grass snakes, because...you know, there’s lots of grass growing on the banks of the river.”

  Susannah tried to catch his eye, but he was avoiding looking directly at her. “I don’t like where you’re going with this.”

  “It’s Saturday. What else do you have to do?”

  “I’m supposed to be minding Sharon and Shiloh while our parents are visiting church members.”

  “And you will mind them at the river.”

  Which, of course, started a chorus of “Please” and “Can we?” and “We promise to be good.”

  “No fair,” she laughed. “It’s three against one.”

  “I’ll even help you pack a lunch.” Micah pulled her to her feet, stepped close enough to scoot her kapp strings back over her shoulder. “Maybe we can wear these two out, and they’ll take a nap.”

  “I hate naps,” Shiloh murmured.

  “We’re too old for naps!” Sharon jumped from one foot to another. “Oh, I know. I’m going to get a box to put Simon the Slippery Snake in.”

  She dashed off toward the house in search of a box. Shiloh stood clasping her hands and watching Susannah. “Are we going? I think Simon would like the river better than our garden. If you think it’s okay.”

  It was probably the look on Shiloh’s face that made up Susannah’s mind. She was such a sweet, serious girl—maybe too serious. A few hours at the river would do them all good.

  “All right, but we need to be back well before dinner. I promised Mamm I would have food on the table by five. Besides, it’s supposed to rain.”

  Micah waved away any concern. “A summer shower can’t stop us from having fun.”

  Twenty minutes later, Susannah had changed the girls into older dresses, Micah had helped to pack the makings for a picnic lunch and they were traipsing across the field to the back of her parents’ property. She’d left a note telling her mamm where they were going.

  The clouds had begun building toward the west.

  “Weather’s changing.” Susannah pointed the fishing rods she was carrying toward the darkening sky. Shiloh and Sharon were walking in front of them—Sharon carrying the box with the snake, Shiloh carrying an old quilt they would use to spread across the ground.

  “Still a long ways off. We’ll be fine, Susannah.” Micah shifted the picnic basket to his right hand and slipped his left arm around her shoulder. His fingers trailing her neck caused goose bumps to cascade down her arm. She deftly stepped to the left, out of his embrace.

  Micah laughed. His melancholy mood over the argument with his daddi seemed to have passed. She’d learned that was both a strength and a weakness of Micah’s. He had the ability to move past things in a way that she envied. She tended to dwell on things too long.

  But he also moved on without ever attempting to resolve the problem. She knew from experience that such a course was akin to kicking the can down the road. It only postponed what needed to be done, and many times that indecision had a ripple effect, causing even wo
rse problems and more difficult decisions.

  But now wasn’t the time to tell Micah that, if it was even her place to do so.

  He was laughing, assuring her that a little rain wouldn’t hurt them and predicting they would catch enough fish to feed her entire family.

  They crossed one field, then another. The path to the river that they used skirted around and then behind an abandoned barn. She hadn’t been in that thing in years. Her dat kept saying he was going to tear it down, but looking at it now, she felt a rush of affection for the thing. It seemed to be leaning gently—its boards weathered to a soft gray, and she realized she enjoyed seeing it there. The old barn was a symbol of permanency, a fond memory from her childhood. She’d played in it many a summer as a young girl.

  She led her way around it, then down the path that led to a lower pasture and the river. Perhaps Micah was right. Maybe it was the perfect day for a picnic.

  * * *

  Micah felt in his element walking toward the river at the back of the Beiler property. Perhaps the argument with his daddi wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Oh, he understood his daddi was serious, but as Susannah had pointed out...he’d been thinking of moving into town anyway. That had been part of his big plan—independence and hopefully a chance to live his own life.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be Amish.

  But why was everyone pushing him to choose such a narrow path so soon? The day before, he’d been in the Goshen jail. Didn’t he deserve a day or two of rest? Why couldn’t they just enjoy a Saturday fishing on the river?

  Well, the answer was: they could.

  They spent the next hour setting up their picnic area, releasing Simon the Slippery Snake and helping the girls put the fishing lines in the water. The sun was now obscured by the clouds, and a westerly wind had picked up.

  “Perfect day for a picnic,” he murmured, lying back on the blanket with his hat over his eyes.

  “Not exactly.”

  “You’re sweet, Susannah, but I don’t think you’ll melt in the rain.”

  “Perhaps we should start toward the house.”