Anna's Healing (6 page)

“Where would you like a ticket to?”

Now that was a very good question.

He hadn't given it too much thought. He'd even pretended he might stay. But as soon as that thought entered his head the restlessness growled in his stomach. “Whatcha got?”

The old man ducked his head and looked at him over his reading glasses. “Can you give me a direction?”

There was no use going back north. The harvesting season was done there and there would be little or no work. He pointed to a spot on the map.

“South, it is.” The clerk printed out a ticket and told him the amount. After depositing the money in his cash drawer, he passed the ticket over the counter.

It was a transaction Jacob had made dozens of times, and it never failed to produce a smile. He reached down, unzipped his bag, and extracted the paperback he was only halfway through. He placed the ticket as a marker in the book.

Thanking the clerk, he made his way outside.

Twenty minutes until the bus arrived. Enough time to lose himself in the history of the Dakotas. And why would he be reading a book about a place he was leaving? That irony wasn't lost on him, but he'd always been a reader. Another trait not prevalent among Amish men, but then as his mother had pointed out, “
Gotte
made you to be the
person you are, Jacob. Sure, sin should be fought against, and I trust you will. But your personality and interests?
Gotte
gave you those, son. Never be ashamed of who or what you are.”

The words eased some of the questions in his heart.

While most of the people he met—and certainly those he worked for—didn't understand his need to move on, he had the blessing of those who mattered most. His family back in Clymer, New York, had always accepted that he was a bit different. Though his six brothers teased him about it, they also were supportive, suggesting he “get it out of his system” while he could. Whatever that meant. His dad was less understanding but not one to argue. Instead, he assured Jacob that a place would be waiting for him when he returned.

By the time the bus arrived, he was deep into the history of the Dakota Territory, the geography of its black hills, and the Sioux Indians who had lived there long before any white men, let alone Amish, set foot in the area.

As he boarded the bus, he quietly took inventory of the other passengers. He'd been traveling for three years now, ever since his twenty-third birthday. It had always amused him the type of people who still used the bus system. Perhaps it was different in a large urban area, but for cross-country? He'd counted five groups.

There were the poor who couldn't afford private transportation, let alone airfare. Second, he could always count on a few older folks—sometimes couples, sometimes alone. Several had shared with him that they couldn't abide flying, and others had admitted they had grown up riding the bus system and preferred it. The third group was the most troublesome for Jacob—the homeless. Not well washed, they always wore a hungry look, and their eyes darted about constantly. What would cause a person to take to the roads when they had nowhere else to live? Wouldn't it be better to live within a community? To have the support and help of a shared group of family and friends?

He supposed the same questions could be asked of him. The difference was that he had a place if he ever chose to settle there.

The fourth group he saw on most trips, though certainly not all. He'd first sat beside a military person on the bus from Pennsylvania to
New York. He knew they were military not because they were in uniform—usually they weren't—but because of the short haircuts and the closed down expressions. Polite, they remained distant and offered little in the way of details or conversation.

Then there were the Amish. One bus he'd taken out of Sugar Creek had been nearly all Amish. He supposed the driver was used to it as he'd greeted them with a robust “
Gudemariye
.” These folks were usually on their way to a well-earned vacation or family visit in another part of the country. Occasionally, he'd met someone like himself, someone who traveled for the joy of it.

Jacob claimed a seat halfway back and set his bag on the empty spot next to him. Matthew's wife had packed him a lunch, and he was tempted to open it up even though it was only nine in the morning. Best to wait. He had a long ride ahead of him.

CHAPTER 7

A
nna was astonished at how the look and feel of her
onkel
's farm changed over the next week. She'd walked the corn maze on the north side of the house many times in the last few months, taking her time as she investigated the paths and explored the borders, and she'd even walked down the two-lane road to see what it looked like from that side. When she'd arrived in the middle of the summer, the corn was no more than waist high, but now it towered far above her, golden husks waving in the September breeze. The maze looked like a different place entirely, a hidden path to an unknown destination.

Actually, it only went round and round with various twists and turns, ending on the far side of the field—the side closest to the Millers' property.

Friday morning Anna walked to her booth in a bit of a daze. The booth had been moved closer to the house, and the yard was filled with people. She hadn't realized that so many from the community joined in with the weekend's festivities, but then she'd never spent a fall in Oklahoma before.

The Millers, who had three children under four years old, brought bales of hay and set them up in a kiddie maze on the south side of the house. Other families from their church brought items to be sold in Anna's booth, and soon it was filled with fruit pies, loaves of bread, and cookies baked fresh by the women in their district.

“How will I ever keep it all straight?” she asked
Mammi
.

“No worries. Each woman takes turns working in the booth, and we keep a tablet with everyone's name on it.”
Mammi
reached under the counter and found the tablet and pen. How had Anna not noticed that before? But then she hadn't needed it. The produce she'd sold had been from
Onkel
Samuel's field. There'd been no need to keep track of money or items.

“Write down the amount of each sale and who brought the item.”
Mammi
held up a jar of preserved okra. “See? A name is written on the labels.”

Anna glanced up when she sensed even more activity across from where they sat. Neal and Adam waved at her as they finished setting up the refreshment booth, which was directly across the large front yard. According to the sign they put in front of it, there would be hot cider, coffee, hot chocolate, and fresh-squeezed lemonade.

Even Levi Troyer, their bishop, participated. When Anna had first arrived in the district, she'd been surprised to see that the bishop was handicapped, but she quickly learned his limp didn't slow Levi down much. He needed a cane to walk, and the injury he'd suffered still seemed to cause him some pain, but she'd never heard him complain about it.

He'd shown up the previous afternoon with two goats, a small donkey, three sheep, and a chicken. Levi was also their neighbor. His place was to the east. Though his children were grown and scattered throughout the district, the oldest son had remained home and raised his family there. Anna had been over to their place several times, and always there were children and grandchildren about.

He'd walked the animals over with the help of some of his grandchildren. The goats, donkey, and sheep each had a lead rope tied around them, but one of his granddaughters carried the chicken. They looked like a traveling farm.

“For the petting zoo,” he explained with a wink. And indeed, two more men from their church soon arrived with a makeshift pen and a pony.

“I'm overwhelmed,” Anna admitted to
Mammi
. But she was also excited. Who wouldn't be? This was the most activity she had seen in months.

“You thought we were only having a walk through the corn?”
Mammi
sat on one of the chairs inside the produce stand. Though the morning was warm, she wore a long-sleeved dress. Her grandmother was obviously enjoying herself. It occurred to Anna that this was a precious memory she would look back on for years to come.

“Why does he do it,
Mammi
?”

“He?”

“
Onkel
Samuel.”

“He does it because I ask him to.”
Mammi
patted her arm, and added, “This was something your
grossdaddi
started years ago.”

Her
grossdaddi
? Hadn't Rebecca said that Menno Schwartz was as serious as his sons? She could hardly picture him planning a fall festival on his land, and this was definitely turning into quite the celebration.

“He also did it because I asked. You see, Anna, I grew up on a farm back in Goshen. Back in the day when land was plentiful and roads were few. My parents would have two weekends in September where they invited anyone who would come out to their farm to celebrate
Gotte
's goodness. Each year something else was added. What started as a simple maze for children to meander through became much more. Members from our church district began to participate until finally it was much like what you see here.”

“This was in Goshen?”

“
Ya
. It was a time we used to thank the Lord together. We celebrated the harvest. Even when there was drought or floods or war, we held the festival. Even when the harvest was less than we hoped, we thanked the Lord. It became a tradition that was dear to me.”
Mammi
seemed lost in thought for a moment, lost in memories of long ago. “Not long after I married Menno, my parents were killed in a buggy accident.”

Mammi
reached under her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. Anna thought she was crying, but
Mammi
repositioned the glasses and smiled at her—clear blue eyes and wrinkles fanning out in every
direction. “My heart was broken. I did not understand then that
Gotte
has His reasons. For months I went through the motions, feeling nothing, saying little. Three weeks before the harvest, Menno asked me what he could do, how he could comfort me.”

Anna turned her back to the activity in the yard and focused completely on her grandmother. “What did you say?”

“I asked him to hold the harvest celebration as a way to remember my
mamm
and
dat
. Menno, he was a solemn thing, much like my sons. But he loved me.
Ya
, he would have done anything to ease the pain in my heart.”

“And the festival did that?”

“
Nein
. Not the first year or even the second. But eventually the memories of my parents and the smiles of the children eased my pain. Each fall I found myself looking forward to those weekends when it seemed I could hear their laughter again.”

“The harvest celebration healed you.”

“The Lord did that, Anna. He brought the harvest. I was able to be thankful again, and gratitude will bring healing every time.”

“I don't remember having any harvest celebration in Goshen.”

“You were a babe the last time. When we moved here, we brought the tradition with us. Samuel continues it to honor his father's memory and because he knows it is important to me.”

“And now Amish and
Englischers
come.”

“
Ya
. It seems that at various points our lives do intersect, even though we strive to be separate. It's a
gut
thing to see these families bring their
kinner
, to see them run through the maze as my children once did.”

Mammi
changed subjects when she saw Neal Eberly walking in their direction. “Looks as if you're about to have company, Anna.”

Before she could think of a way to avoid him, Neal was standing at her booth. Anna had made the mistake of riding home with him on Sunday evening after the singing. Perhaps calling it a “mistake” was a bit strong, but she didn't want to give him the wrong impression.

“Hello, Anna. Ruth.”

Anna was a little surprised that he knew her
Mammi
's name, but
then he'd grown up in the district. Probably she was like family to him. That thought caused Anna to smile, which didn't go unnoticed by young Neal.

“We were preparing the booth for the start of the festival,” Anna said. “It looks
gut
,
ya
?”

“It does.” Neal seemed about to say more, but then he clamped his mouth shut and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Was there something you needed, Neal?”
Mammi
asked gently.

“
Ya
, I was wondering if you'd like some of the cold lemonade I brought for the refreshment booth.”

“Lemonade sounds
gut
, Anna. Please fetch me a glass.”
Mammi
's smile widened. “
Danki
, Neal. That's very nice of you.”

Anna didn't have much choice, so she tossed
Mammi
a we'll-talk-about-this-later look and walked beside Neal to the refreshment stand. The yard was as full as Anna had ever seen it with children of all sizes, parents, grandparents, and, from the looks of cars pulling off the road,
Englischers
.