My Dearest Naomi (2 page)
Authors: Jerry,Tina Eicher
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
All Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All poetry in this book, except the one by Frances R. Havergal, was written by Jerry Eicher, © 2012.
Cover by Garborg Design Works, Savage, Minnesota
MY DEAREST NAOMI
Copyright © 2012 by Jerry S. Eicher and Tina Eicher
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Eicher, Jerry S.
My dearest Naomi / Jerry S. Eicher.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7369-3942-3 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-4246-1 (eBook)
1. Amish—Fiction. I. Title. II. Eicher, Tina.
PS3605.I34M9 2012
813'.6—dc23
2011044606
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
A Checklist of Jerry Eicher’s Books with Harvest House Publishers
The Homestyle Amish Kitchen Cookbook
N
aomi Miller stood beside the buggy, the corner of the front wheel inches from her side. Eugene Mast’s fingers were wrapped around hers. She looked up at him, the shadows from the moonlight hiding his blue eyes, leaving only the sides of his face visible.
“Do you really have to go?” Naomi whispered.
“
Yah
,” Eugene said. “It’s something I need to do. But I’ll be back before you know it, and things will be like they always were.”
“Nine months is an awfully long time.”
“
Yah
, but
Da Hah
will be with us. He will help us bear the pain of absence. And we are promised, you know.”
“But what will Bishop Enos say about this? We are both members of the church.” Naomi’s hands shifted in his. “What if there is trouble?”
Eugene laughed. “I don’t think there will be trouble. Bishop Enos knows I have no plans to forsake the church.”
“Even though you are running off to Iowa to teach at a Mennonite church school? It’s a terribly long way from Indiana.”
Eugene leaned forward, kissing her cheek. “I will write often, and that will help with the loneliness.”
Naomi pulled away. “Will you miss me? Perhaps a little?”
Eugene laughed again, causing his horse to turn his head to look at him. “I will miss you terribly, Naomi. I just believe this has to be done. If I don’t take the chance now, I’ll always look back and wonder.”
She sighed. “But it’s so dangerous out there. And the Mennonites can put all kinds of ideas in your head. Then you’ll never come back.”
He shook his head. “Please, Naomi, don’t make this harder than it is. I’ll come back. I promise.” He glanced at the envelope she had given him earlier. “Thank you for the card. I’m going to save it to open when I get to Iowa.”
“Okay. I think you’d better go,” she said. “I can’t stand this much longer.”
“I’m not much at goodbyes anyway,” he said. “I will always love you, Naomi. Goodbye…for now.”
“Goodbye,” she said, stepping back as Eugene climbed into the buggy. He slapped the reins against his horse’s back, waving once on the turn-around in the lane, his hand a brief movement from the dark interior. Watching the buggy lights move down the road and fade out of sight, Naomi stared long into the darkness. She then turned to walk back toward the house, pausing to look over her shoulder once more.
Monday evening, August 30
,
Greetings from Iowa. This finds me installed in the upstairs bedroom of my new home. The time was a little past eleven o’clock the last I looked. We pulled into the driveway of this little farm around nine, but I couldn’t see much in the darkness. We were met at the front porch by Lonnie and Luella Hershberger, the older Mennonite couple I’m staying with. The school board members who brought me out said their goodbyes and drove off in their van. I was shown around the house by Lonnie and Luella. After the tour, we ended up in the living room talking.
They seem like very nice people even though I’ve only just met them. Their house is a white bungalow with everything inside neatly arranged and in order. The kitchen is by the front door, with the living room in the back. I’m in the front bedroom, upstairs, overlooking the lawn. They said I could see the schoolhouse from my bedroom window, but it’s dark right now.
I feel strange and a little frightened to be out here alone. I’m missing you, of course, and the community. This awful sensation is wrapped around me, as if all the familiar props are knocked out from under me. In the meantime, I have to act as if everything is okay and be full of smiles. I can imagine right now you’re saying “I told you so,” but then maybe not, being the nice person you are.
I can’t thank you enough for the card you gave me before I left. It means so much to me. If I didn’t have your love to fall back on, I don’t think I could stand it right now. I know part of my problem is that I’m just so dead tired I could fall off the chair. The trip was long and more tiresome than I expected.
I suppose I’d better be off to bed. I won’t even start unpacking tonight.
The suitcase is still open on the floor with only the things taken out that I need immediately. And that’s good enough for now.
Good morning. I awoke to Luella hollering up the stairs. We had decided last night she would be my alarm clock since I didn’t bring one along. There is an electric alarm clock sitting on the desk, but I told Luella I didn’t know how to run one. And I sure wasn’t going to take the time to figure it out last night. She laughed and said hollering would be the Amish method anyway, and that it should make me feel right at home.
I smiled and said
yah,
but I didn’t mention that any reminder of home causes more pain than comfort right now.
I came downstairs to a breakfast of eggs and bacon, which I ate quickly. Then I stepped outside for a look around. The weather is nice, and I can indeed see the schoolhouse down the road. It’s a large, white, wooden structure with tall windows on the side. There’s a bell tower on top, placed toward the front. There’s a single tree in the yard.
Back upstairs, I started to unpack until I saw your second card. That brought a halt to the unpacking for a while. Who would have thought being away from you would be this hard?
As of now, the plans are that I will take the rest of the week to settle in at the schoolhouse. They only have a half-day scheduled for school on the first day, Friday. Then no school on Monday, since it’s Labor Day. Beats me how I’m supposed to keep myself occupied all that time with so little work to do.
The chairman of the school board told me the teacher who taught last year will be at the schoolhouse today by 10:00. She will give me details on the lesson plans and other pointers she might have on how to do things around here. I’ve been told it shouldn’t be that different from the year I taught at our Amish school, but I shall see.
While I think to mention it, I forgot to give you the other dove from my farewell cake at our families’ going-away supper. Somewhere in all the goodbyes it slipped my mind. I have the one, and you were supposed to get its mate. My sisters have it now and are supposed to pass it on to you. Hopefully we can match them up when the school year is over.
Luella said the mailman goes past at quarter till nine, so I’d better get
this letter out. Here’s my address and a little rhyme. I know it’s not much, but it lets you know how much I’m missing you.
When the new moon hangs in the starry sky
I think of love, of ours, of you and I.
With all my heart,
Eugene
Tuesday evening, August 31
,
“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty…he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.” Psalm 91 is close to my heart at the moment. I grew to love that passage the year I taught school back there at home. One morning Eli Byler, my co-teacher, read the chapter for devotions. All the children sat listening intently at their desks that morning, and I could imagine in a small way the care God must have for us all.
Tonight finds me even lonelier than last night. I’m sitting here wondering what you’re doing right now. At the moment, even the thought of home is enough to bring a dampness to my eyes that shouldn’t be there. I’d better think of something else. I never imagined I would get homesick so soon. It’s not like I’ve never been away from home. Here in Iowa I don’t know a single soul—and that’s a first for me.
The countryside here is different too. It sort of rolls along—not so flat as at home and there are fewer trees than I’m used to. Lonnie tells me that in the wintertime, when the fields are bare, I’ll be able to see for miles.
I’ve been asking Lonnie and Luella lots of questions. The answers have surprised me. For one thing, the church here doesn’t have many worldly things. I always thought Mennonite churches were fairly liberal, but this one has rules prohibiting cameras and recording devices. Still, it wouldn’t surprise me if some members had them. I doubt if human nature changes, whether you’re Amish or Mennonite. There also are no radios or televisions, they said. The men have CB radios, judging from the antennas on the few trucks I’ve seen, but that’s it.
The differences in our practices are greater. They wear multicolored clothing, drive cars, have electricity in the house, and speak only English. It will take some getting used to.
I spent most of the day at the school going over the books and familiarizing myself with the children’s names. The first day of school will be my first opportunity to match faces with names, and I’m looking forward to that. One thing for sure, I’m going to be a lot busier with schoolwork than I was the year I taught back home. Here they have all eight grades. All grades have students this year except the second. And there’s only one teacher—me! Seventeen pupils in seven grades should keep things interesting, but I’ll manage it…somehow.
By the way, I wrote last night that school would start on Friday. Well, I managed to get the date changed today. I’ll have school all day Thursday and Friday and have the usual Monday off for Labor Day. I can imagine the kids aren’t too happy about that, but I want to get started as soon as possible. Now that I’m here and ready, there’s no reason to delay even one day.
The inside of the schoolhouse is large. It’s one room and has a high ceiling of suspended tile. I hollered inside—when I was alone, of course—to test the acoustics. It’s not all that great compared to the Amish schoolhouses at home, which have drywall everywhere. I expect this will affect the children’s singing at morning devotions, but we’ll have to make do. I think singing with the proper surround sound adds so much.
I went out for a ten-minute run this evening since I haven’t worked a lick’s worth of manual labor these last two days—well, three days now. I have to get some exercise.
