As she walked, Leah tried not to feel annoyed at Edith for cornering her into agreeing to work with Isaac. The pregnant woman had a large household to run and many tasks to do. Having a clumsy, ignorant stranger messing up her efficiency couldn’t be easy. So Leah would work with Isaac and stay out of her way.
It also lit a grim determination within her to conquer this new domestic frontier. For now, her journalism career was on hold. Maybe it was time to learn how to make butter.
Within twenty minutes, she saw Isaac’s home. “Look for the white picket fence and a green mailbox,” Edith had told her.
Sure enough, a picket fence lined the lawn with a shiny green mailbox at the road. As with most Amish homes, the building was large and white. A barn stood adjacent.
She walked up the pathway to the front door and knocked on the screen doorframe, trying not to peer through the open front door. After a minute or two, an older woman came to the door, wiping her hands on her apron. “Guder nammidaag,” she said. “Vee bisht du hight?”
Leah caught the gist. “Guder nammidaag,” she repeated. “Do you speak English?”
Surprise registered in the woman’s eyes. “Ja,” she said.
“My name is Leah Porte. I’m here to see Isaac, if he’s home.”
“Ja. Please come in. My name is Eleanor Sommer. I’m Isaac’s mother. You’re the Englisch woman staying with the Bylers, no?”
“Yes. Isaac wanted to talk over some computer issues with me.”
“This way.” The older woman turned and led the way through a spacious living room to a kitchen not dissimilar to the Bylers’. She walked with a pronounced limp and sometimes reached out to steady herself on a wall or piece of furniture. “Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to the kitchen table, then went to a back screen door. “Isaac!” she called toward the barn.
“Ja?”
“There is an Englisch lady here to see you!”
“All right!”
Eleanor turned back to the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, thank you.”
By the time Isaac came in carrying a computer case, Eleanor had poured hot water into two large mugs and tucked tea leaves into two strainers, which she dropped into the steaming water. She placed the mugs on the table, along with spoons and a sugar bowl.
“Thank you,” said Leah. “Hi, Isaac.”
“Edith didn’t tie you up with too much work?” He dropped into the chair opposite her and reached for a cookie from the plate his mother placed on the table between them before leaving the room.
“I don’t know how to sew or make butter, so no. I guess I’m more useful here.” She meant the words to sound sarcastic, but instead they had an overtone of pathos she didn’t intend.
“Don’t be discouraged.” To her surprise, he didn’t tease. “This is all new to you, but it’s nothing you can’t learn.”
“But in the meantime, it means I’m all thumbs.”
“Except on a computer.”
“Well...yeah.” She dipped her tea strainer. “I suppose.”
“So are you ready to look at this software program?”
“Sure.” What else could she say?
He pulled a black laptop from his computer bag and set it on the table. While it booted up, she asked, “What program is giving you trouble?”
“InDesign. Are you familiar with it?”
“Yes, very.” She straightened up. “It’s a very common program, very versatile.”
“I’ve had such a battle learning it.”
“Do you do the whole layout of the magazine?”
“Ja. It takes me a long time.” He angled the computer so she could see the screen. “Especially when it comes near the time to send it to the printers, sometimes I’m up all night.”
Leah rubbed her chin. She didn’t know how to make butter, she didn’t know how to sew, she didn’t know how to cook, she didn’t know how to do the endless things the Byler women did daily—but she did know how to do desktop publishing. Maybe witness protection should have placed her here instead of with the Bylers.
“I can help you with the layout,” she admitted. “I’m pretty fast on this program. If you have the format set up, half the job is already done.”
He looked relieved. “What a shame you’re not going to be here forever or I might just dump the whole thing on you.”
“Why?”
“Because I like working on the magazine, but I don’t like the computer work.”
“There’s nothing to it once you get the basics down. I’ve done more computer work in my time than I like to admit. I’ve done a lot less since...since my accident.”
“Do you miss it?”
“The computer work? No. The rest of my job? Of course.”
He nodded but didn’t probe. “Well. I have my interview with Ivan ready to go for the upcoming issue. I just needed the photographs, which I took yesterday.”
Leah looked at the laptop. The battery bar showed the device was fully charged. “If you don’t have electricity, how do you charge your computer?”
“Well, ah, actually I charge it in the barn. I use a solar-powered milking machine, and the solar panel also charges the computer battery.”
“Do you have a website and email address?”
“No website, but I’ve got email.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling. “But I can only access the internet from the library in Pikeville.”
“Sounds very un-Amish to me.”
“It depends. We’re a fairly modern order, as I said earlier. The Amish church, like most religions, has different levels of strictness, which is set by the local bishop and varies a lot from region to region. Some of the dairy farmers around here are allowed to use generators for their milking machines, since dairy is their primary income.” He tapped the machine. “I charge the laptop during milking time, early morning and evening. Sometimes I hire freelance designers too. That’s why I’d be interested in hiring you.”
Now it was Leah’s turn to be startled. “Hire me? No! I didn’t say anything about money.”
For a moment she caught his eyes, and she felt her heart speed up. Rachel said he might be interested in courting her. While the old-fashioned term grated on her urban ears, she saw what Rachel meant. She instinctively understood his interest in her was more than just professional.
She also recalled Rachel’s views about her facial scar. Could it be that Isaac didn’t notice it, as Rachel said?
Certainly she was attentive to his appearance. He was attractive, with curly hair and cheerful features, and he seemed confident and self-assured, except for his computer skills. He was an altogether good-looking man, and she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t feel a tug of interest.
But despite her dress and kapp, she was too aware of the cultural divide between them. She was modern, he was old-fashioned. It was a pity.
Anxious to break her train of thought, she blurted, “So what kind of problems are you having on the program?”
He tapped some keys and pulled up the program. “Here and here. I can’t figure out how to wrap the text around this odd-shaped diagram, and I don’t know how to make a table from these figures.”
For the next half hour, Leah walked him through the confusing details until he understood. “Thank you!” he exclaimed at the end.
“No problem.” She leaned back and put some space between them. “I used this program every day when I was in college.”
Isaac turned off the computer and shut the lid. “So what article do you want to write for me first?”
“I told you, I’m not.” Whatever warm feelings she was feeling toward him dissolved in a puddle of frustration. “Please don’t push, Isaac. I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment and don’t need anything else added.”
He shrugged. “I’m not giving up. I think you have a lot to offer. Besides, look at it as a professional outlet for your skills.”
Pain welled inside her. “My profession is dead to me at the moment! And you have a lot of nerve bringing it up.”
He held up both hands as if stopping traffic. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to rub a sore spot. I just thought having someone approach various subjects from the perspective of teaching something to those unfamiliar with the procedure would be helpful. Such as doing laundry without electricity.”
Leah scrubbed a hand over her face. “I came from a position of competence and authority. I reported on high-ranking news scandals, regional disasters, and political events. And you want me to write about...laundry?”
His expression tightened. “So writing about laundry is beneath you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’m Amish, not stupid, Leah. I caught the subtext just fine.” His eyes flashed with anger.
“I’m just trying to be helpful. As for writing about laundry, forget it. You’re right, it’s beneath me.”
“Then you’re acting like a hypocrite.”
She lifted her chin. “No, I’m not. I’m being honest.”
“Then you were lying when you said you were interested in green and sustainable living. A zero-waste lifestyle. You say you support those things, yet you disdain the skills that make that kind of lifestyle possible. If those things are important to you, then you should be willing and able to preach it to others. And what better medium than my magazine?”
Leah’s chest tightened. “It’s not that I’m unwilling to write about those subjects. It’s just that...”
“That what?”
“That this whole domestic thing isn’t my cup of tea.”
Surprise flattened his face. “Domestic thing? What are you talking about? We live here, Leah, doing what’s necessary to live according to our principles. What’s offensive about that? I’d really like to know.”
Leah fiddled with the edge of her apron. The irony of fidgeting with such a feminine garment didn’t escape her. “I was raised to believe women are strong and empowered individuals who are perfectly capable of competing with men in all aspects of the workplace. Stuff like laundry and sewing and other domestic skills just isn’t on my radar.”
His voice hardened. “Look, Leah, you’re not in Los Angeles anymore. You’re on a farm among a community of people who have a lot of work to do on a daily basis. The jobs you think you’re too good for—laundry and sewing and cooking and such—are still jobs that must be done by someone. Women do them because most women don’t want to do the physically harder jobs men do. No one is oppressing anyone. It’s just the order of things.”
“Seems like a mighty convenient order.”
The flash of anger faded from his face. “I think I see the problem. You believe physical labor is something to be avoided. That’s what modern conveniences are all about, right? Avoiding labor. That’s why the Englisch world has washing machines and dishwashers and cars. But we believe in gelassenheit, which loosely translated means ‘letting be.’ We believe the earth should be left as close to Gott’s original creation as possible.”
“Except when it comes to using a computer to lay out a magazine. Or solar panels to power milking machines. Sounds pretty hypocritical to me.”
“If you’re trying to provoke me, it won’t work. I don’t make up the rules of the Ordnung, I just follow them. We Amish must sift through modern conveniences to determine which ones will allow us to make a living in a modern world but without destroying the unity Gott gave us.”
“It still seems backward.”
He grinned, surprising her with the flash of humor. “I’m sure a lot of people believe exactly the same thing. I think that’s part of my interest in broadening the magazine’s circulation—to show the Amish aren’t backward, knuckle-dragging troglodytes or patriarchal oppressors—as some have hinted—but in fact have a lot to teach society. Not just in their approach to their carbon footprint, as you might put it, but by how their religious beliefs contribute to their overall peace of mind and lifestyle choices. Our beliefs are entwined with our lifestyle. There’s no separating the two.”
She accepted the olive branch and the change of subject with some relief. So far the people she’d met had been kind enough to take her in, and here she was letting her ego get in the way of a respectful discussion. “Does the magazine have Christian overtones? I didn’t notice any when I glanced through the issue you dropped off this morning.”
“Not per se. But for example, if someone wants to write on the subject, I wouldn’t turn it down. Mostly it doesn’t come up because it’s just an accepted and understood facet of everyone’s lives.”
“So you don’t evangelize on the street corner?”
“No. The Amish aren’t evangelists in the sense of drawing outsiders in. Our spiritual life is mostly a personal thing, not expressed in public and not proclaimed loudly. The Bible says hypocrites love to stand on the street corners and pray loudly so they can be seen by others, but we’re instructed to pray quietly and in secret. But since we’re also instructed to spread the word, we tend to follow the ‘straight stick’ model of spreading the Gospel.”
“Straight stick model? What’s that?”
“Some might call it a form of evangelism. I guess it’s what the Amish use, when it comes down to brass tacks. Essentially you lay your straight stick next to someone else’s crooked stick.” He rubbed his chin. “Let’s say someone has a troubled life or lacks a religious foundation or has made bad choices. Whatever the issue, they’re missing the peace that Gott promises. Their lives are crooked sticks.” He traced a warped line on the table. “Those who have that peace, and whose lives aren’t troubled by bad choices, have straight sticks.” He traced a solid line. “They don’t have to preach at the troubled person—they just lay their straight stick next to the other person’s crooked stick. The contrast is inescapable. So is the solution. Saint Francis of Assisi may have said it best—‘Preach the gospel at all times, and when necessary, use words.’”
Leah was silent, thinking. “It’s hard to argue with that,” she admitted.
“Ain’t so, right? In some ways, I think it accounts for some of the fascination for the Amish lifestyle. People don’t just have a longing for, as you put it, a sustainable lifestyle. They also have a longing for the peace of Gott, which is a part of it. They just don’t realize it. So when people look to the Amish for their sustainable, zero-waste lifestyle, by default they’re also exposed to the strong religious convictions we live by. The two are inseparable, and it’s what makes us what we are.”
“That’s all well and good, Isaac, but I don’t see droves of people becoming Amish. And that includes myself.”
“Can’t give up the modern amenities you grew up with?”
“Of course not. I’m a modern woman and a product of my environment, despite the apron and kapp I’m wearing.” She stood up. “I think it’s time I go.”
“You haven’t finished your tea yet.” Isaac knew it was time to switch tactics if he wanted to keep this fascinating woman involved with both him and the magazine. “I have to apologize. You’ve given me a lot of help, and I’m doing nothing but causing you grief. I’m sorry.”
She hesitated, eyeing him, then dropped back into her seat. “You’re an odd man, Isaac Sommer.”
“So I’ve been told.” He reached for another cookie, more for something to do than from hunger. “Finish your tea, at least, since there’s no rush for you to get back to the Bylers.”
“You mean I’m more useful when I’m out of their way?” To his relief, she smiled.
“Maybe.” He smiled back.
Leah sighed. “I should apologize too. It’s been a rough transition, from media darling to someone with a price on her head. And I still...still...” She gestured toward her scarred cheek, and he saw tears in her eyes. “I’m still adjusting to this.”
“And it will take some time to recover. I realize that.” He bit his cookie and spoke with his mouth full. “And no, I don’t think you’re being a hypocrite over the whole sustainable living thing. In fact, the longer you stay here, the more I think you’ll enjoy the life we lead.”
She leaned back in her chair, and he was pleased to see the interest reflected back in her expression. “What do you miss most about modern life? About the English world?”
“Books.” He spoke without hesitation. “I read a lot of books I might not otherwise read if I’d never left. Even now I have a bookshelf in my bedroom stuffed with many volumes I brought back with me. But I don’t miss cars, I don’t miss personal electronics, I don’t miss the hustle and bustle.” He sipped his tea. “But this is all new to you. What do you miss most about modern life?”
“Oh boy, that’s a huge question. I’ve only been here a day, so I’m still trying to come to grips with all the changes and differences.” She nibbled her cookie. “Off the top of my head, I’d say a lack of news is my biggest thing. I’ve been steeped in news for the last decade of my life, maybe even longer. It feels weird, not constantly monitoring the minute-by-minute changes in the political world. Now to be without radio or television or the internet makes me feel news deprived.”
“I can understand that. It will be interesting to see if you feel the same way after two or three months. I found out the hard way that constantly marinating in news can be bad for my peace of mind.”
“But don’t you think it’s important to keep up with what’s going on in the world?”
“Yes and no. There is only so much you can do to change the world.” He gestured around the kitchen. “For some people, their helplessness in the face of the big picture can lead to despair and misery in what might otherwise be a healthy and productive life. The Amish believe we are in, but not of, this world. For better or worse, that’s the choice we’ve made to keep our sanity and our faith.”
“And for now, that’s the only option I have too. It’s not like I can watch a little television in the evening.”
“As I said, I predict within two or three months you won’t miss it. When I was in the Englisch world, I didn’t have the powerful sense of community I have here, much less my family around me, and religion played a far less important role in Englisch peoples’ everyday lives.”
“So imagine how much worse it is for those who don’t know what they’re missing,” said Leah. “The irony, of course, is I was experiencing that meaninglessness without realizing it. I compensated by working. Some might say by overworking—” She was interrupted by a chime from the clock in the next room—five o’clock.
“Yikes, I’d better get going. I told Edith I’d be back in time for dinner. Or rather, supper.” She rose to her feet and hesitated. “Isaac, I’m sorry I bit your head off. Please understand I’m learning to cope with the change in my circumstances. This isn’t about you...it’s about me.”
“And I probably pushed too hard.” He also stood up. “But thank you for showing me how to better use the computer program. And if you ever want to write me something, I won’t object.”
Walking back to the Bylers’ through the late-afternoon sunshine, she passed a house she had walked by earlier. A woman in a deep purple dress and black apron hung laundry on a line while two young children played on swings hanging from a tree branch. She could hear their cheerful cries and chatter. The homeyness of the scene hit Leah in a way she didn’t anticipate.
She’d never known siblings. She’d never known a domestic life, not like what this unknown woman experienced on a daily basis.
The woman looked over and waved at Leah, then continued her task. Leah returned the greeting. Who was happier in her job, she wondered—herself at the height of her fame, or this nameless woman caring for her family’s needs and creating a legacy of stability for her children? She had a strong suspicion the answer was obvious.
Lost in thought, she stepped on a branch and winced. She looked down. The branch lay on the side of the road, and it was...crooked.
She stopped and stared as a cold prickle went down her spine. She picked up the stick, about fourteen inches long, full of kinks and warps. She recalled what Isaac had said.
Could her life be described as a straight stick or a crooked one? On the surface, it seemed it wasn’t too crooked—she didn’t have a string of bad relationships behind her, she’d had a successful career—but was that enough?
Was her life pleasing to God? Before this, she’d never given the matter any thought.
She started walking again, still holding the stick. Her parents had divorced when she was young. Her father had never been in her life. Her mother was now deceased, but she’d raised her daughter to be strong and independent, with an eye toward seeking the fulfillment of a career rather than the chains of domestic life. She had no siblings, no immediate relatives, only a handful of close friends.
Her mother had been so proud of her career in journalism. After her mother’s death, Leah had thrown herself even more into her job. For a long time, it had covered the lack of family, friends and community...and now that was gone too.
Now what was left—and what her future might hold—was something she had avoided thinking about.
But she couldn’t avoid it forever. Nor could she hide out here among the Amish forever.
Frowning, she tossed the stick aside.
Then she picked it up again and carried it with her.