Forever Amish (10 page)

“Englisch women snapped them right up. But then Bishop Troyer's wife complained to him that Amish women were buying the boxes too and humming the song.”

“A problem?” I said.

“
Verboten
. In the first place, we're not to wear jewelry. Even wristwatches. And the bishop said Reuben chose Satan's favorite color—red. And so fancy.” He picked up the jewelry box. “I shouldn't have let you open it. Not that you follow the
Ordnung
—our unwritten rules. But the Bible admonishes us not to cause another to stumble.”

“Don't worry. A jewelry box won't lead me into a life of debauchery.” I contemplated the trashy magazines for sale back home, right in the grocery store where kids could see them, and the grungy R-rated movies I detested. “Is this why your bishop is on Reuben's back?”

“Mostly. Ya see, Reuben didn't destroy them when the bishop admonished him to. Now everything Reuben does is under scrutiny.”

I glanced around and saw several quilt racks waiting to be sanded and stained. “I feel sorry for Reuben. He probably thought he'd found a way to bring in extra income and unwittingly did it all wrong.”

“'Tis true. There was no evil intent. But he should have run his idea by our bishop or deacon first and saved himself the money and his reputation. And then heaped them on the burn pile when the bishop demanded it, and repented.” Armin stacked the jewelry box with the others and pivoted to me. “Reuben can be a bit bullheaded.”

“I don't doubt that, but I can understand why he didn't want to throw them away. He must have put hours and hours into each one. Maybe he could install a new tune.”

“Makes no difference. A man must listen to God's Word, not his own. To add to Reuben's problems, someone reported seeing him at a local bar downing a beer.” Armin's hand swiped his mouth. “Ach, I shouldn't have told you.”

I heard an engine idling and wondered if Lizzie were returning with her young man. I was tempted to sprint out and catch them, then remembered I was in Reuben's workshop, uninvited. Alone with Armin, who didn't seem to hear the car door. But I assumed he'd heard it. Lizzie must be stealing into the house and tiptoeing into her room.

In any case, I'd be close on her heels.

“No worries,” I said, “I won't mention our conversation to anyone.” I took one last look around. I hoped Armin wouldn't tell Reuben I'd been snooping in here. One more blot against me, when, in fact, Reuben was in the hot seat. But I cared what Rhoda thought of me.

“I'm afraid everyone in the district has already heard. With phone shanties—our Amish grapevine—juicy news purveys the county like the stench of a skunk.”

“I know all about gossip,” I said. “As a girl, kids ridiculed me behind my back and teased me openly about not having a mom. I invented stories about my sophisticated and glamorous mother, a flight attendant for United Airlines, based in Chicago, who got stuck flying holidays.”

Armin stared at me as if waiting for me to continue.

“In other words, I'm against petty gossip, what my father calls tittle-tattle,” I said, rather than reveal my thoughts. Not that I hadn't already blathered about my reprehensible mother. What was it about this place that pried me open like bolt cutters snipping through chain-link fencing?

A horse whinnied—more a squeal—the sound emanating from the barn next door. “That's my Thunder,” said Armin. “I'd better take a look.”

A nanosecond later, I was racing after Armin toward the barn. He yanked the door open and stepped inside the black cavern.

A voice, sounding like Pops's, shouted inside my head: run back to the house and watch from the window! But the vagrant who'd prowled around the Mustang might be lurking in the shadows.

Following Armin, I aimed my flashlight's beam around the barn's spacious interior. A row of stalls contained six massive, statuesque draft horses and several other horses, including the mare that had pulled Jeremy's buggy earlier. Meaning he must be home, although Lizzie had insinuated his friends owned cars.

My flashlight's beam landed on Armin as he sauntered over to a restless horse. He patted its rump. The tall animal bumped the wooden stall, causing the boards to moan.

“What's bothering you, boy?” Armin said, then spoke to it in Pennsylvania Dutch. He stepped into the stall and stroked the horse's arched neck and nose. “I'm here. Everything's okay.” A minute later Armin emerged from the stall. “Someone's been in here.”

As I strode over to them, the horse's ears pinned back and his head jerked. Armin put a hand up to stop me. “Better keep your distance. My Thunder doesn't take to strangers until he gets to know them.”

“Fine. I don't want to get bitten.” I inched nearer, still out of the horse's reach. “Maybe he heard my voice next door.”

“No, someone's been in the barn, I can tell. One of those stools is at a different angle.”

I looked over to a potbelly stove with a couple stools and chairs nearby. “Jeremy was in here after I arrived,” I said. “Maybe he moved it.”

Armin sniffed the air. “Wearing aftershave?”

I inhaled deeply, my nostrils struggling to decipher the musky layers of dried hay, silage, and manure. “I don't smell anything remotely like a man's aftershave.” Then a whiff of a pleasant fragrance drifted into my nose but quickly vanished.

As I scanned the barn's interior again, today's events circled through my brain like a NASCAR race on the verge of a pileup. I expected a bum or rodent to jump out at me. “I wish my dog was here,” I said. “She'd ferret out anyone.”

“And further agitate the horses.”

No use arguing with a man I'd awakened from slumber. But I was nervous about walking back to the house alone. My whole life I'd put up an impervious facade, and I wanted to convince Armin I was braver than I really was. I felt like mentioning I could stand in front of hundreds of spectators demonstrating my dogs' attributes to hard-nosed judges. But why stretch the truth? Deep in my core lay an uncertainty, like a rock tumbling into an endless well. Nothing I could grab hold of. Someday I'd like to hear the
sploosh
as I landed in a tub of warm sudsy water. What I hoped would happen when I married Donald. But now figured was a fantasy.

The longer I was away from him, the less I missed him.

“I saw Lizzie out the window with a young man earlier.” I couldn't withhold the information anymore. “I thought I heard a car leaving, but maybe the two came in here first.”

“Or someone wanting to keep warm.” With ease, Armin clambered up the ladder to the hayloft and shone his flashlight in every corner. “No one up here.” As he descended I admired his agility.

“We don't mind a homeless man taking shelter as long as he asks permission and doesn't strike a match,” he said.

A horrific vision of the barn catching fire from an itinerant's cigarette made me shudder. As a child I'd watched a two-hundred-year-old barn burn, a ghastly sight I'd hoped to never witness again.

“'Tis been a tetchy night,” Armin said. Yet he'd discounted the footprints around the car.

On guard, I kept close to him as he moved to the potbelly stove, its black metal surface still emitting warmth, making me want to huddle close. I felt the security of Armin's presence. No one would dare attack me with him at my side. Or would I have to defend myself? Was he a nonresistant pacifist? I was used to stalwart men like Pops, who would protect me with his life. And my Ginger would too.

“Maybe an animal spooked the horse,” I said, listening to bird wings fluttering in the rafters.

“Could be. I've heard tell a bobcat's been seen in the area. Their scream sounds somewhat like a woman's.”

I felt heat rising up my neck to my cheeks. “I'm afraid I'm the one who got you up.”

“I know.” He guffawed. “You think I can't tell the difference between a woman and a wild animal? How thick-headed do you think I am?”

“I didn't mean to infer—”

“Ach.” He stepped outside, then aimed his flashlight's beam toward my feet as I exited the barn. “If anyone's ab im Kopp—off in the head—it's you,” he said.

“Are you calling me crazy? How dare you!”

“You woke me from the nicest dream.” He closed the barn door.

“About the young woman coming over for dinner?” Why did I feel a pinch of jealousy over a man who'd just insulted me?

“I can't see how my dreams are any of your business.” He covered his mouth to yawn.

Staring back at him, I tried to ignore his rugged features, his eyes that pulled me right in.

“Ach, I can't stand around chewing the fat.” He glanced at the sky as the rain started again. “I've got to get up to milk the cows in a few hours.”

A raindrop hit my cheek. “I'm sorry I bothered you.” I really was. “I shouldn't have come out here.”

“You'll not get an argument from me there. I'll walk ya to the door to make sure you get inside safely—and stay there.”

 

CHAPTER 10

I was so rattled I thought I'd never fall asleep again, but the next morning, when I opened my eyes, sunshine peeked around the green shades. Thank goodness I wouldn't have to attempt lighting the lantern on the bedside table. I checked the clock and saw it was already seven thirty.

The scent of coffee and bacon seeped under the door, beckoning me to arise, even if the room was chilly. When I'd collapsed into bed last night, I'd been so cold, exhausted, and agitated, I'd slept in my clothes. I bet I was a wrinkled mess. But who cared? I'd grab a quick breakfast, say my farewells to Rhoda and Lizzie, drive home, then shower and change in familiar surroundings. Lancaster County had appeared so peaceful when I'd arrived, but Pops had warned me on many occasions that appearances were often deceiving.

Sock-footed, I used the bathroom. No sign of Lizzie. I stood outside her door and rapped lightly. “Lizzie, are you up?”

No answer. I figured she was doing her morning routine: household chores and collecting eggs. Not wanting Reuben to get on her case, I decided to zip my mouth about her antics last night. Although audacious Lizzie seemed to have her father under her coquettish spell, she was capricious: all sweet, acting obediently, then sneaking off into the night with a guy. And like a cunning politician, she'd avoided speaking to me. But I didn't have time to pry the truth from her. Or see Armin again. Just as well. He obviously found me a pest, which made me feel melancholy, like I had in the days following Mr. Big's death.

I heard men speaking Pennsylvania Dutch down in the kitchen. And then Rhoda. If not for her, I might have retreated back to bed to wait for the men to hitch up their horses and hit the fields, which I assumed was today's agenda. Saturday was a workday on a farm; that much I knew. And today was Pops's busiest day on his car lot. I had no right looking down at Lizzie for working at the store instead of on the farm; I'd abandoned Pops on a weekend. Often, when the lot got swamped, I'd help write contracts, entertain the customers' kids, wash and polish cars for delivery, and occasionally sold a few. Thankfully, Ralph was there to assist today, but Pops needed me, his flesh-and-blood daughter, to help with customers.

I felt glum, a lump expanding in the back of my throat.

Pausing on the top step for a moment, I listened to the chatter in the kitchen diminishing. Maybe their mouths were full—or better yet, the men had left the house. Had Armin explained how I'd woken him, then insisted on entering Reuben's workshop? I hoped my scream hadn't torn the whole household from slumber.

I heard the back door close and heavy footsteps descending the porch. But I still detected voices just above a whisper in the kitchen. I ambled down the stairs to see a man sitting at the table, hunched over, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. The homeless fellow from last night, I figured. Rhoda stood with her hand on his back, as if comforting him.

“This is for the best,” she said. “All things will work together for gut; you'll see.”

I stood in the doorway. “Good morning, Rhoda. Sorry to interrupt.”

The man raised his head and hiccupped. I must be losing my vision or my mind, was all I could think, because he resembled an older version of my father.

“Pops? Is that you?”

He wiped his damp cheeks with his shirtsleeve.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

He forced a crooked smile. “Is that any way to greet your father?”

“How did you know where to find me?” A mixture of anger and incredulity roiled inside me. “Did you follow me yesterday? Put a tracking device on the Mustang?” How bizarre would that be? I moved closer to him. “Well?”

His gaze refused to meet mine. “I've been here before,” he said.

“That's impossible.”

The back door blew open, and Reuben stomped in. “You still here?”

At first I assumed he was talking to me, but the force of his words was directed at my father.

“Please don't send him away.” Rhoda stood between Pops and Reuben like a shield.

“Are ya kidding?” Reuben said. “No one ever sent him away. He intentionally left. The man has yet to confess his sins and ask for forgiveness. We're sinning by allowing him in our home.”

“That's not entirely true.” She pulled out a chair across from my father for me. “Remember, he was never baptized.”

Had I stumbled into a parallel world? Was I being set up for some obnoxious reality TV show? A quick glance didn't turn up any camera crews taping us. Reuben's features revealed contempt, and Rhoda's face displayed both fear and expectation—the corners of her mouth quivering.

“What's going on?” I said. “Pops, what are they talking about?”

He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I don't know where to start.”

“I do,” Reuben cut in. “Your father disgraced the whole family.”

“He's—” Rhoda's voice was wobbly. “He's my younger Bruder.” She swallowed, sniffed. “And I'm mighty glad to see him. I never thought I would again.”

“It would have been best for all if you hadn't.” Reuben's callused hands gripped the back of his chair at the head of the table. “He's not one of us anymore. He even changed his name.”

My knees went weak. I landed on a chair, coming down at an odd angle that twisted my back. “Ed's not your real name?”

Pops stared at the saltshaker on the table. “No.”

“He ran off with a floozy.” Reuben shoved his chair against the table so hard the salt toppled over.

“But without her, we wouldn't have our Sally,” Rhoda said, her voice tentative and pleading.

Reuben huffed. “She's not ours. Sally's Englisch through and through.”

“We could ask the bishop what to do,” she said, and Reuben scowled, etching crevices across his face.

“Don't you dare speak to him about this. You want us all put under the
Bann
? Don't we have enough problems already?”

“Wait a minute, everyone,” I said. “Don't I have any say?”

“Nee.” Reuben's voice filled the room like a tidal wave. “This is my house and you're nothing more than a guest. Both of yous, get out!”

“But this was my parents' home, Reuben.” Rhoda's fingers intertwined over her stomach. “We should include them in this conversation.”

I pictured the older couple, Leah and Leonard Bender, from dinner last night. “Let me get this straight, Rhoda.” I ignored Reuben's glower. “That older couple are my father's parents?”

“Yah. Seeing their son would be an answer to prayer.” A tear skidded down Rhoda's cheek; she blotted it with her apron. “They'd be ever so happy.”

I recalled the verbal battle upon my arrival. “Do they know about me?”

“An inkling, but we weren't sure. Lizzie's been trying to track down my brother and came across your website.”

I felt as if I were peeling an orange and finding an onion inside. “So the whole story of looking for a dog was a scam.”

“Not completely.” Rhoda dipped her hands into her apron's pocket. “Lizzie's been hankering to own one ever since she found out you raised them.”

Reuben and Rhoda were my aunt and uncle. And Lizzie was my cousin, as were her two brothers and two older sisters I'd yet to meet. Rhoda's parents were my grandparents! I'd hardly paid them any attention last night.

“Lizzie had no right to interfere.” Reuben expanded his chest. “Where is she? Sally must have kept her up late talking.”

“Still out in the chicken coop,” Rhoda said.

“Don't go blaming my daughter,” Pops said in a shaky voice. “She's the best daughter a man could have.”

I glared at him, a man I realized I didn't even know. “Why have you lied to me?” Bile rose in my throat as I allowed my rage to unleash itself. Pops shrank in stature, his neck bending forward. “If you're not Ed Bingham, who are you?”

“Ezekiel Bender.” Reuben widened his stance. “But that name wasn't good enough for him. Nor were his family and our ways. He was a self-centered
Laus
—louse. All he cared about was cars so he could crisscross the county, then leave. And that hussy Englisch girl friend of his, she let him drive her father's automobile.”

“She beguiled him, Reuben,” Rhoda said. “Really, she did. He was so young and running around. He got into the wrong gang.” Her glance flitted my way. “That's what we call informal youth groups.”

“He blatantly broke every rule,” Reuben shot back. “Even though his family needed him.”

“You grew up here?” I asked my father. The floor beneath me seemed to sway. I hardly knew up from down. “You were Amish?”

Pops bit his lower lip.

“You sat and ate breakfast in this very kitchen?” My words echoed off the walls.

“Yah, he did,” Reuben said. “And look how he repaid his parents.”

“Ya want me to get them?” Rhoda asked Pops. “They'd be sorely disappointed if they missed you.”

“If you wouldn't mind.” Pops's taut face seemed racked with pain, his mouth a thin line.

As Rhoda slipped out of the kitchen, I stared at Pops and waited for him to speak up—to make sense of my crumbling world. Honest Ed was a sham and a liar. “Are you even my father?” I asked, fearful of his answer.

“Of course I am.”

“Don't believe anything he says.” Reuben tugged his earlobe. “He started fibbing when a lad. I know; I was a couple years older and remember when he stole that wallet.”

“I didn't steal it,” Pops said. “I found it in an alley. Someone had taken the cash and credit cards.”

“Then why did you confess to the bishop?”

“Because he wouldn't believe me, and I wanted things back to normal.” Pops pressed his palms together. “But I never took the money, I swear before the Lord.”

“You're lucky the Almighty doesn't hurl a bolt down and obliterate you for invoking his name.” Reuben moved closer, like a coyote stalking a wounded rabbit. “And I suppose you didn't borrow our Englisch neighbor's car and go joyriding.”

“Ya got me there.” Elbows on the table, Pops's forehead drooped into his hands. “I was lucky they didn't press charges. But I only did it once.”

“Because you snagged yourself a fancy girlfriend with a convertible so you could drive all you wanted, yah?”

I felt dizzy, the room spinning as I tried to envision Pops as a young Amishman, dressed like Armin on a date. My dad on a date …

“My mother?” I got to my feet and grabbed hold of Reuben's elbow. “Was that woman my mom?”

“How would I know who your mother is?” Reuben yanked out of my grasp. “Your father never sent us a wedding invitation.”

“Did she look like me?”

He scrutinized me as if I were a mongrel caught rummaging through the garbage. “Her hair was darker than yours and reddish.”

“But she could have colored it,” Rhoda murmured from behind me.

“Please, I have to know who she is,” I persisted. “Would anyone remember her last name?”

Reuben stroked his beard. “What does it matter now?”

“You don't understand. I feel like half a person.” At that moment, an orphan.

“Why don't you ask your father?” Reuben said.

Rhoda stepped back into the kitchen. “Ezekiel, Leah was so shocked she near fainted. She's too weak to stand. She and Dat are asking: Would you go speak to them in the Daadi Haus?”

“Okay.” Pops rose and shuffled out of the room, his head hanging low as if on his way to prison. What was wrong with him? I'd be thrilled to see my mom.

Stepping into the living room, he appeared to know where he was headed. Everything Reuben said about him was true. My father had chosen to abandon his parents, just as my mother had left me. He'd seen firsthand the anguish I'd lived with, and yet he'd ignored his own mother and father. Had they been pining over him, or had they shut him out of their minds so they didn't go crazy with worry? I hoped Rhoda would tell me about my mother. A younger woman like Rhoda would be more likely to remember a bad influence on her brother. But Rhoda shadowed my father and left me with Reuben.

“The Lord admonishes us to forgive.” He curled his weathered, sun-spotted fingers into fists. “But I don't know that I can.”

I felt the gulf between us narrowing. “I know what you mean,” I said.

“I can't dawdle around here.” Reuben massaged the back of his neck. “Not with him in this house. Sally, I feel sorry for ya, having that reprobate for a father.”

My first urge was to defend Pops, but I stood in a daze, white noise filling my ears. All that malarkey about honesty he'd drilled into me was rubbish. My life was like a Chutes and Ladders game—I'd landed on the big slide and hurtled to the bottom of the board.

Reuben put on his hat, pulled down hard on the brim, dug his arms into his work jacket, and strode out the back door. Then it hit me; I needed time alone to think without feeling like a target at a shooting range. I'd dive into the Mustang, and return later after Pops had left. Then I'd get acquainted with my grandparents and speak to Rhoda in depth, now that the deplorable truth had been revealed.

But where would I go in the meantime?