Leah heard a knocking at her door. “Leah, are you awake?”
“Hmm?” She opened her eyes to bright sunshine and birdsong coming in through the window. She felt disoriented. Where was she?
The bedroom door opened and Eliza poked her head inside. “Good morning, sleepyhead. It’s late. Time to get up.”
Leah realized she wasn’t in her LA apartment; she was in Ohio.
“I must have overslept,” she mumbled, trying to be gracious in her grogginess. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep last night.
“Breakfast is ready. Mamm sent me to get you.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right down.”
Eliza closed the door, and Leah swung her feet out of bed. The birdsong poured through the window, the likes of which she’d never heard before. She peeked out, hoping to catch a glimpse of the source of this magical sound, but the thick leaves of the maple trees on the side of the house disguised the avian inhabitants.
Not wanting to keep the Bylers waiting, she wiggled as best she could into her clothes, stretching behind her back to reach the snaps. She twisted her hair into a bun and jammed it with pins, then fastened her kapp. Without a mirror, she hoped she looked presentable.
Snatching up her apron, she donned it as she exited her room and trotted downstairs. “Sorry I’m late,” she panted, wondering what time it was. “It’s not like me to oversleep.”
“Good morning,” said Edith and Ivan at the same time. If they were annoyed, they gave no hint of it with their broad smiles.
Leah seated herself and bowed her head as the family silently prayed. Then chatter broke out as Edith scooped food for the youngest children and Ivan passed around bowls of eggs and biscuits.
The food was incredible—biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, milk, coffee. Everything but the coffee, she suspected, came off the farm. “I’m going to have to watch out or I’ll gain weight,” she said between mouthfuls.
“Oh, you’ll work it off,” replied Edith. “Most people do.”
“What time do you leave for the office?” she quipped to Ivan, who smiled.
“I’m rushing to finish an order for a store in Cleveland,” he answered. “That’s why I’m so glad Isaac is helping me. Sales have been slow lately, and this order will help a lot. They’ll be sending a truck a couple weeks from now, so I have to make sure everything’s finished before then.”
“How many pieces are they taking? And what kind?”
“Four dressers and two beds.”
“You must be very proud of your work.”
Ivan looked at his plate. “The Lord has given me some skill,” he mumbled.
Leah could have kicked herself. Pride—the Amish avoided it like the plague. “I’m sorry.”
“We have laundry to do today, since we didn’t do a load yesterday,” Edith chimed in, helping to cover the awkward pause. “And baking.”
Despite her mother’s teaching that modern women didn’t need domestic skills—not if they were pursuing a high-powered career—Leah felt anxious to redeem her blunder. “I’ll be glad to help, but you’ll have to show me how to do things.”
“Of course.”
She came to regret her offer—not that she could have, in good conscience, avoided making it. The Byler women worked, and worked hard. First came cleaning up the breakfast dishes, which—in the absence of a dishwasher—took a long time, though the women chatted cheerfully throughout. Then they broke into separate tasks. Edith and Eliza started dinner and began mixing dough for bread, while Sarah and Rachel hauled tubs onto the porch for laundry.
Leah offered to help with laundry. On a side porch, a large metal tub stood below a hand pump. The tub, Leah saw, was full of soaking clothes. Between two trees, metal clotheslines had six lines strung between them.
“How long have these been soaking?” she asked.
“Oh, about an hour or so,” replied Rachel. “We mix up some detergent, put the clothes in and just let them sit. It helps get any stains out. Here, give me a hand with this, will you?”
“This” turned out to be a bulky, leggy contraption roughly shaped like a half barrel lying on its side, propped up on four stout legs. Leah helped carry it onto the porch. “What is it?” she asked.
“A washing machine,” replied Rachel.
The wringer fastened to one end should have given Leah a clue, but since she’d never seen such a thing in real life, she wasn’t certain. “How does it work?”
“Like this.” Sarah dragged the washer toward the metal washtub. She lifted the Plexiglas cover and loaded clothes into the tub. From a bucket, Rachel scooped some slimy-looking gelatinous stuff that Leah presumed was detergent and plopped it over the clothes. Sarah started in pouring buckets of water, shut the lid and seized a handle at one end.
“All you do is swing this handle back and forth,” she told Leah. “We’re washing these in cold water, but we like to wash whites in hot water.”
“Is that detergent?” asked Leah, pointing to the bucket of gelatinous goo.
“Yes, we made it ourselves,” replied Rachel.
Of course they did. The list of self-sufficient skills the Bylers possessed was intimidating.
“How long do you swing the handle back and forth?” she asked Sarah.
“Here, you take a turn,” she replied. “About eight minutes,” she added.
Leah seized the handle. She felt the resistance as she rocked it back and forth. “So let me guess, this agitates the clothes?”
“Ja. The movement kind of forces the water and detergent through the clothes. This load is pretty dirty, which is why we presoaked it. For less-dirty loads, we won’t have to agitate as long.”
“Clever,” she admitted. “Even if it’s more work than a regular washing machine.”
When Sarah deemed the load clean, she drained the water through a plug hole at the bottom and added fresh water for a rinse. She repeated this again for a second rinse. Then Rachel fed the clothes through the wringer as Sarah cranked the handle and Leah caught the damp garments and put them in a basket.
“Want to help me hang?” asked Sarah as Rachel fished more dirty laundry from the tub into the washer.
“Sure.”
“Here, grab a handle.”
But Leah even needed instruction in this most elemental task, as she soon discovered.
“If you don’t shake the clothes out, like this—” Sarah snapped a boy’s shirt so it cracked “—then it will dry crumpled. Hang the shirt like this...” The lesson continued.
In the midst of this tutorial, Isaac came around the corner of the house. “Guder mariye, Sarah, Rachel.” He flicked the brim of his straw hat.
Sarah looked around. “Guder mariye, Isaac.”
Leah didn’t want to admit the little jump she felt inside at the sight of him.
“I have a copy of the magazine for you, Leah.” Isaac took an issue from under his arm.
Leah wiped her damp hands on her apron and took the magazine. “This looks professional.”
He seemed pleased. “I hope so. It’s been an uphill battle learning how to do everything.”
She flipped through the contents, noting rural-themed subjects, which were appropriate, since the name—Plain Farmer—said it all.
It was illustrated with beautiful photographs. “Do you take all the photos? If so, I’m impressed.”
“Most of them,” he admitted. “Except when I get submissions from people elsewhere. Not all the subscribers are Plain. There are many people who just like rural life and who send in their contributions and their photos.”
Leah chuckled. “Maybe you should cover a typical Amish laundry day.”
“Maybe I should.” He cocked his head. “Sometimes it’s the little things that make the biggest impression.”
“Hey, take it from someone who’s never done laundry without electricity—it’s not little.” Not wanting Sarah to think her slacking, Leah placed the magazine on the grass beside the clothesline pole. She picked up a damp apron, snapped it and pinned it to the line.
“Anyway, are you still able to come over sometime and look at what I’m doing wrong with my computer?”
“I guess. Though I’m sure you understand I feel obligated to give my efforts to the Bylers, to help with their chores and such.” She reached for a pair of boys’ trousers. “They’re the ones housing and feeding me.”
“Talk it over with Mamm,” advised Sarah from the other end of the clothesline. She kept her eyes on the garment in front of her. “She can let you know what needs to be done and when you might be able to get away.”
“I’d best get to work, then. Ivan is expecting me.” He flicked his hat brim and left.
“What does he want you to do with the magazine?” Sarah asked Leah while she fetched another article of clothing.
“He’s pushing me to write for it, and I’m not interested. But he said he needs help troubleshooting on a computer program he uses.”
“Do you know a lot about computers?”
“I’m no expert, but I know enough to get by. And I know a couple of desktop publishing programs, so I may be able to help him with that.”
“Desktop pub... What did you call it? What’s that?”
“Desktop publishing. It’s when you do the layout of a document, such as a magazine, right there on the computer and then send it to a printer and they just print it off.”
“Wow. You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not too hard. It’s a lot better than the old days when everything was done by hand.”
“Like laundry?” quipped Sarah, her blue eyes crinkling.
“Like laundry.” Catching the humor, Leah took one handle of the now empty basket as Sarah took the other, and they walked to the porch, where Rachel was swinging the washer’s handle on another load.
Laundry was just the first of many chores done that day. In the kitchen, preparations for lunch—which they called dinner—were well underway. An enormous bowl covered with a towel rested in a square of sunshine. Eliza swept the entire downstairs of the house. Edith, waddling a bit with her girth, prepared a separate casserole for a neighbor who had just had a baby. Sarah offered to take the casserole over while Rachel worked in the garden.
“What would you like me to do?” asked Leah, feeling a little useless in the midst of all the industry.
“I’m sure Rachel would enjoy company in the garden,” hinted Edith.
So Leah walked with Rachel to the garden and within minutes was involved in weeding beets and radishes.
“Word is spreading about you and Isaac,” began Rachel without preamble.
“Word?” exclaimed Leah in alarm. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he acts like a courting man.”
Her jaw dropped. “But he can’t be. We just met. And I’m not Amish.”
“I know that. You know that. He knows that. It’s a problem.”
Leah yanked a weed. “I’ve only been here twenty-four hours. You’re right, it’s a problem.” Then curiosity got the better of her. “So what does Amish courting even look like?”
“It’s subtle, especially to someone not raised Amish, but to us it’s screaming loud.” Rachel smiled.
“He’s barely met me.”
“He’s seen you more often than necessary. I guess that’s one of the clues.”
“But he works for your father.”
“Yes, but he went to the hot dog roast last night, and he walked us home. Then today he dropped off a copy of the magazine. That’s a lot in a twenty-four-hour period. And now you’re going to work with him on his magazine.”
“I’m not working with him on his magazine. I’m just looking at his computer problems.” She knew her voice sounded cross. “Do you think I should avoid him?”
“No...no, not necessarily. And it sounds like you could help him a lot with his computer. Just be warned, though, he might be thinking of courting you.”
A few moments of silence passed. “So why isn’t he married?” Leah asked at last.
“I just don’t think he can find a girl willing to take a chance on him. He has so much Englisch in him now.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“It is for a girl who’s been baptized and prefers to stay wholly Amish.”
“Well, I can tell you, no man will look twice at me anymore.” The usual bitterness rose in Leah’s throat.
“What? Why?”
“Why? Because of my face.” She gestured in frustration. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Rachel fixed her eyes on Leah. “There’s nothing wrong with your face.”
“You’re right, except for this huge, livid scar that nearly slices me in half.”
“Leah.” The younger girl rested her busy hands for a moment. “You’re angry, I can tell. But a face is just a face. Skin is just skin. You’re still you, the person Gott created.”
“But I can’t do the job I was trained to do anymore.”
“But you can do this job. Or you can work with Isaac on the magazine. Or you can do any other job you set yourself to. I don’t pretend to know Gott’s mind, but maybe it’s Gott’s will that you’re here with us.”
“God’s will!” Anger flared. “You think it’s God’s will that I be scarred like this?”
“I think it’s Gott’s will that I was born with a genetic disorder,” replied Rachel gently.
Leah’s anger drained. She’d had a lifetime of beauty, but Rachel had been dealing with her genetic stature since birth. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “You’re right, I’m still angry.”
“Have you taken your anger to Gott?”
“I thought He caused this to happen.” She couldn’t keep all the sarcasm out of her voice.
“Have you taken your anger to Gott?” repeated Rachel with a small smile. “Have you told Him you’re angry? Have you asked Him how you can be healed? I don’t mean healed on your face—I mean healed inside.”
Leah kept her eyes on the weeds, yanking the unwanted plants with unnecessary force. “No,” she admitted. “I don’t know that it would do any good.”
“I think you have what’s sometimes called a Gott-shaped hole in your heart,” commented Rachel, shifting to the next row of beets. “When someone has sorrow, they take their troubles to Gott. But if there’s a hole inside where Gott should be, the hole gets filled with sorrow and it has no other place to go. It festers and gets infected, like a wound.”
“And how do you fill this God-shaped hole?”
“You ask Him,” said Rachel simply. “It’s that easy.”
“Is it? You certainly make it sound like it is.”
“Gott doesn’t throw complexities at us beyond our ability to cope. He means for it to be easy. Besides...” Rachel rubbed her chin, leaving a small smear of dirt. “As you say, you’ve been here twenty-four hours now. How do you view me? Do you still see my dwarfism?”
Startled, Leah stared. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’re having a nice conversation on a lovely June day while weeding a beautiful garden. You’re not focused on the fact that my body is shaped differently, just like I’m not focused on the fact that your face has a scar. That’s the way Gott works, you see. Within a short time of meeting someone, you see what they’re like on the inside, not the outside. You don’t see the outside imperfections, but the inside beauty.”
She was right. Leah was so stunned she sat back and stared away across the garden for a moment. “So I’m making a bigger deal of this than anyone else is,” she murmured, touching her cheek.
“It’s normal for you to make a bigger deal. It’s your face, after all, and from what you’ve said, it changed your career. But it didn’t change you on the inside, except for being angry. And Gott can fix that, if you’ll let Him.” Rachel pulled a weed.
For a moment—just a moment—Leah felt an extraordinary feeling. It seemed like a wave washed over her, cleansing her of anger and bitterness and leaving peace in its wake.
Then she shook her head and the feeling passed. This was all too strange and bizarre for her. She resumed weeding, grateful for Rachel’s soothing company but not yet willing—as the younger woman put it—to fill this so-called God-shaped hole in her heart.
But the memory of that feeling of purity lingered.
A clanging sounded in the distance. “Dinnertime,” said Rachel, climbing to her feet and brushing her dress down. “I’m hungry, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Actually I am.” She stood up and looked at the rows of vegetables. “It looks good!”
“I’ve never minded weeding.” Rachel chuckled and picked her way over rows of plants. “I like making things tidy.”
Leah followed Rachel’s example and washed her hands at the pump in the yard before going inside. Seeing the magazine she’d left by the clothesline, she picked it up and brought it indoors.
Isaac was in the kitchen with Ivan and the boys, washing up at the sink. With the family seated, all heads bowed in silent prayer. Leah mimicked the action, and for once she actually thought about the food before her. Seeing how hard everyone worked to grow, preserve and prepare it, maybe it was something to be thankful for. Inside, she made an effort to express gratitude.
“So what did you think of the magazine?” Isaac scooped some food onto his plate.
“I still haven’t had a chance to look at it.” Leah wagged a finger at him. “Are you being mercenary again?”
He grinned but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he directed a question at Edith. “Can you spare Leah later this afternoon? She said she’d look over a problem I’m having with my computer.”
“We have butter to make, and some sewing.” Edith adjusted her youngest son’s booster seat. “Since you’re not familiar with how to do those things, this afternoon is as good a time as any.”
Leah felt her face heat up. She translated Edith’s remark: You’re in the way. She was definitely ignorant of most domestic duties. She got it.
“She thinks she’s too good to write for me, but at least she’s condescended to look at my computer.” Isaac’s tone was conversational, and he kept his face directed toward Edith.
“I’m sitting right here,” Leah snapped. “You don’t have to talk like I’m in the next room.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t sure if it was you sitting here, or your mother.”
So he remembered her blunder from the garden yesterday in which she’d mentioned her mother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you deliberately pushing my buttons?”
“Because your eyes sparkle when you’re annoyed.”
His answer stopped her cold. She stared at him for a moment longer, then looked at her plate.
Ivan chuckled. “You two are like oil and water.”
“Ja,” agreed Isaac.
In all her professional life, Leah couldn’t remember someone so simultaneously flirtatious and annoying. She didn’t know what to make of him, and it left her feeling unsure of herself in a situation where she already felt like a fish out of water. She was tempted to skip the appointment but then remembered Rachel’s soft accusation from yesterday. She clenched a fist and knew she would go.
After dinner, Isaac brought his plate to the sink. “Four o’clock?” he asked her. “I’ll be done in the shop in an hour or so.”
“I guess.” She hated that she sounded ungracious.
“Danke.” And he left.
Before departing, Leah sat down on the front porch steps and went through the magazine, noting its format and layout. It was a meaty journal without a lot of fluffy advertising. It opened with a table of contents and letters from readers, then launched into a mixture of philosophical essays, how-to instructions for splitting wood and storing potatoes, coverage of rural-themed events such as Horse Progress Days, interviews with businesses, even some poetry. She flipped through articles on shearing sheep and how to set the price for a buggy horse, a primer on growing garlic, some recipes...in short, whatever would interest people involved in small farming.
Despite the subject matter, she grasped what Isaac was getting at. He was attempting to unify a diverse set of rural inhabitants, everyone from the religious Amish to the free-spirited hippies, all bonded by a mutual love of nature and rural living, a do-it-yourself attitude, and a practical need to know more information. It wasn’t something that appealed to her.
Armed with this insight, she put the magazine in her room, obtained directions from Edith and set out to walk to Isaac’s house.
Her bare feet were still tender, so she kept to the side of the gravel road where grass softened the surface. The mile distance would take her about twenty minutes to walk, said Edith, and Leah couldn’t help but compare walking a mile here in rural Ohio with walking a mile in urban Los Angeles. In the city, no one walked.
But no one saw what she saw either. Walking gave perspective, not speed. Tall grasses waved along the roadside. She smelled fresh earth from someone’s plowed field. She heard birdsong and saw butterflies. She saw blue flowers and white flowers and yellow flowers and red flowers—and didn’t know any of their names.
In the distance, a man in a straw hat and suspenders sat on the metal seat of some sort of farm contraption, pulled by two large horses, dragging an implement through the dirt of the field. Not far beyond, a big white farmhouse sported tire swings from two huge trees shading the yard, and two children apiece clinging to them, shrieking with laughter. She saw the unmistakable signs of a huge garden behind the house.
She didn’t hear anything modern: no cars, no trains, no airplanes, no radios. Just birdsong, laughing children, and frogs croaking unseen in a ditch.
Everywhere she felt bucolic peace. Now she knew the scenery was the result of hard work by hard-working people, but that didn’t make it any less lovely.
No, this wasn’t a bad place to live...for a little while.