Faith tried to sleep, but she only succeeded in twisting her covers into a knot. The clock on her nightstand read 2:00 a.m., but it seemed as if it should be closer to dawn. An Englischer had once asked her how they managed to sleep without air-conditioning. Her answer was twofold. One, she’d never had air-conditioning, so she couldn’t very well miss something she’d never had. Two, though some days could be warm of course, the nights were nearly always pleasant.
Her room was upstairs and looked out over the side garden and the fields beyond. The breeze tonight was enough to require a light quilt, and as she gave up on sleep and pushed her feet into her house slippers, she grabbed her robe.
She didn’t exactly plan on going downstairs and rereading the letters, but she couldn’t get them out of her mind. What had it been like to be sent away? How had Peter handled living in a completely different environment? Why was he sent there? Why couldn’t he go home? His letters seemed to suggest he couldn’t. And what about Mary? Had all the men in their community been sent away? What was that like?
And had she waited for Peter?
Faith liked to think so, but she’d seen the doubt in David’s eyes. Okay, so she was a romantic at heart. She could admit that. Just because she wasn’t married didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy reading about a nice romance—and this one was real.
She snagged the box of letters and made her way downstairs. By the time her mother found her, she’d made a list of information to look into and was on her second cup of coffee. Dat said good morning on his way out to the barn to tend the animals. Mamm put a breakfast casserole in the oven and asked, “Trouble sleeping, dear?”
“Ya.”
“Worried about something?”
“Nein, not exactly. It’s just that these letters, well, they have my mind spinning.”
“Oh, yes. The letters you and David found.”
Faith cringed at the way her mother said David. If she’d been looking at her, Faith would have seen her eyebrows rise and a smile tug at her lips, so she didn’t look. Instead, she reread her list to see if she’d missed anything.
Mamm poured a mug of coffee, sat next to her, and yawned. It wasn’t until she’d half-drained her mug that she nodded toward the sheet of paper.
“May I?”
“Sure. Maybe it will jog your memory.”
“I doubt it. I’m not that old, Faith.”
“But it must have been a smaller community then. Maybe you went to church with Mary or Peter.”
“Your dat and I didn’t move here until after we married.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. You and Dat were married in 1985, right?”
“Correct.”
“So the letters were written fifteen years before you got here. But if they married, surely you would have known them.”
“There are lots of women named Mary in our church, but I’ve only known one or two men named Peter, and none who would be the right age.”
“Just look over the list. See if anything rings a bell.”
Faith scooted her chair closer to her mother, and together they read down the sheet of paper.
“I know this one.” Her mamm tapped the paper where Faith had written CO. “It means conscientious objector.”
“Oh. I should have thought of that.”
“The Vietnam War was a difficult time for our people and for the country as a whole. The fact that our men refused to fight, well, some people didn’t understand that.”
“What happened when they refused?”
“Most were sent away to work on farms or in state or national parks. They were expected to serve, though not in a military capacity.”
Instead of commenting further, she continued reading down the list.
Her mamm laughed. “Most of these details could describe anyone.”
“I know,” Faith admitted. “But not everyone has sheep. Dat won’t abide them. He says they eat the grass down to nothing.”
“Your dat is quite opinionated on some subjects.”
Mamm stood and walked over to the stove where she refilled her coffee mug. “Want more?”
“Nein. I’ve already had two cups.”
“You know, Faith . . . the devotion described in these letters was quite common in those days.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that people had fewer choices.”
“You’re saying women had fewer choices, right?”
“Ya, I suppose I am.” Mamm sat across from her. “Everyone thinks the Amish life is simple, but truthfully our lives have grown more complicated than they were a generation or two ago—same as everyone else’s. It’s gut that you’ve found work you love to do, working with animals.”
“You’re not going to remind me of my duty to marry, are you? Before breakfast?”
“Nein. I only wanted to say . . . Well, I guess I wanted to say that I married your dat when I was nineteen. Loving him, raising a family, caring for our home—those aren’t small things. They’re big responsibilities, and I’m grateful for the life I’ve had.”
Faith’s defensiveness melted away in light of her mamm’s honesty.
“I’m not dismissing what you do at the clinic. I’m only saying that loving someone is also pretty important—it’s something you can dedicate yourself to, and in the end, those people are what make your life worth living.”
“I know that, Mamm. I just don’t know if I can envision that life for myself.”
Instead of arguing, Mamm stood, brushed Faith’s kapp strings back, and planted a kiss on top of her head. “Your dat will be back any minute. We should get breakfast on the table.”
Faith set out the plates, cups, and silverware. Mamm sliced fresh bread and heated it in the oven, then cut up fruit to go with the egg-and-ham casserole. Faith’s brother tromped in with her dad a few minutes later. She’d never even heard him go out.
After they prayed and started eating, Micah began teasing her.
“Your nose was awfully deep in those letters this morning,” Micah said. “I could have been a complete stranger traipsing through the kitchen, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”
Faith didn’t bother defending herself. Sometimes her ability to focus solely on one thing was a benefit, and other times it meant she completely missed what was going on around her.
“You know, Faith, we usually try not to interfere in other people’s business,” her father said.
“Yes, but this is different.”
“Could be, or it could be that you’re tempted to put your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Dat reached for another piece of bread, spread a thick layer of butter on it, then folded it in half as if it were a hotdog bun.
“So you think we should just . . . throw the letters away?”
“I think you should have left them where they were. It’s not your business. Whatever is written there—it doesn’t concern you.”
Her father was so old-fashioned that sometimes she expected him to suggest they do the laundry at the river with a rock.
Faith breathed a sigh of relief when the conversation turned to crops and weather. As she and her mother were washing the dishes later, she admitted to her mamm what she was planning.
“I’m not sure I’d advise getting the bishop involved, but it sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”
“What’s wrong with asking Bishop Alton?” When Mamm didn’t answer, Faith added, “If he says to drop the entire thing, I will.”
“Fair enough.” Mamm reached up and tucked a wayward lock of hair into her kapp. “We’ve spoken of this before.”
“Spoken of what?”
“Not being fully involved in today, in our community, with our people.”
“I’m involved. I go to work five days a week.”
“Where you spend your time with animals.” She smiled, which did little to soften her words. “I just . . . I hate to see you living in the past—in someone else’s past. There’s so much life around you, Faith.”
“Maybe I’m meant to be a historian.”
“An Amish historian?” Her mamm laughed, and the tension between them melted away.
Faith thought it was hard being an adult child in her parents’ home. She knew they worried, but why couldn’t they just accept her as she was? Instead of tossing that thought around in her mind, she focused on her chores and managed to finish everything before lunch.
She snagged her mamm’s shopping list and headed out to the barn. Micah had already harnessed Patches to the buggy. Faith set off in search of answers on what looked like a promising spring day.
* * *
David was surprised to look up from his work and see Faith directing her mare onto his bruder’s property.
He hurried over to open the gate.
“Didn’t expect to see you today.”
She looked flushed and out of breath. As he helped her out of the buggy, she studied his worksite, but he didn’t think she actually saw what was in front of her. Her mind was definitely somewhere else.
“Spill it.”
“I stopped by and saw Alton.”
“And?”
“And he’s going to help us.”
David blew out a big breath. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d hoped that maybe Alton would tell them to leave it alone. He was worried they might be stirring up history that was best left buried. “You take your Nancy Drew duties very seriously.”
“Nancy Drew? Are you referring to the mystery books? How do you even know about those?”
“My nieces check them out from the library—not romances, as you suggested—but they do love a gut mystery. Come sit down and tell me what Alton said.”
“I’m too excited to sit. Let’s walk.”
They wandered over to the pasture fence and continued down the path next to it. On the other side of the fence, a half-dozen Hereford cows grazed, their white faces turning occasionally toward their visitors.
“Well, Alton doesn’t personally know who Mary or Peter are. He’s only fifty, which is somewhat young for a bishop in my opinion.”
“Ours in Virginia was closer to seventy,” David admitted.
“Anyway, Alton said he would contact some of the older members and ask if anyone knew who Peter and Mary might be.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“He seemed amused by the whole thing.”
“Did he now?”
“I was relieved since my parents think we should leave it alone.”
“Leave it alone?”
“Ya. To quote my mamm, ‘I hate to see you living in the past.’”
“Ahh.”
Faith reached over the fence to rub one of the calves between the ears. She glanced back at him. “I suppose you agree with her.”
“Hey, I’m helping. Aren’t I?”
Her expression softened. “Ya, you are.”
When she smiled up at him, David felt the ground tilt. He actually looked down to see if he’d stepped on something or into a hole.
When he saw nothing unusual and looked back up at Faith, he experienced a sudden moment of clarity. He was falling for Faith Troyer. When had that happened? On the day of the picnic when they were under the kudzu vine? When he’d watched her wrap the injured Pebbles in her apron? While they poured over the letters written so many years ago that the pages were brittle?
He supposed the when didn’t matter so much as the fact.
David pushed through his meandering thoughts and tried to think of anything to say. “If you have a minute, I’d love to show you what I’m working on.”
She turned around and seemed to notice the three tiny buildings for the first time. “What are those?”
“Tiny houses.”
“Those are the houses you build?”
“Ya. Why do you look so surprised?”
“Because I thought you built cabins.”
“They’re like cabins, only smaller.”
“I’ll say. They look like tiny garages, if an Englisch car would even fit in them, which I doubt.”
“People live in these.” He reached for the crook of her arm and guided her toward the closest house.
“What people?”
“People from all over. They’re quite the popular thing at the moment.”
“I can’t imagine someone living in a home so small, and you actually enjoy building them?”
“I do. I still accept custom jobs for cabinetry work, but I don’t have to go looking for business anymore. I’m making plenty doing this.”
“Building miniature houses?”
“Yup. Sometimes I buy the frame complete, and other times I build it to a customer’s specifications. Once the design is right, I finish out the inside. There are a lot of cabinets in them.”
The wind had picked up as it was prone to do on March days. Faith held her kapp in place with one hand and used the other to keep her apron from flying up in her face. After they walked around all four sides of the house, Faith turned to him and shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s so small.”
“Ya, they’re tiny. Hence the name.”
“Why would anyone want one?”
David tried to think of how to explain it to her. He’d learned long ago that many people didn’t understand his work.
“Some Englischers are looking for ways to simplify their lives. They don’t want to live in a large, three thousand square foot home anymore or pay the expensive utility and mortgage bills that come with a large house.”
“I’ve never understood why Englischers live in such large homes when most of them only have two children.”
“Exactly, but that has become the average size of new houses. And there are some Englischers who have four or five children.”
“But not many have ten like we do.”
“True. My point is that some are looking for ways to simplify and downsize.”
“Downsize?”
“An Englisch term.”
“Hmm.”
“Their solution to overextending their credit is to sell what they’re living in and purchase a tiny house.” David hooked his thumbs under his suspenders as he looked over the three houses he was working on. The one they were standing next to was nearly finished, the next one was about 50 percent complete, and the third he’d barely started on.
Faith peered up at the structure.
He tried to see it from her perspective. It was small, though he’d become used to that. What he especially liked was the symmetry and the compactness of the projects. “They’re very well designed with a lot of storage space, which is how I got started building them. At first, I was adding cabinetry in tiny houses that a company over in Middlebury made. Then I decided to try my hand at constructing my own.”
“You build cabinets in there?”
“Ya. Storage is super important when you’re living in a very small space.” He urged her forward. “Take a look inside. They’re nicer than you think.”
“Oh . . . I don’t think I can.”
“Sure you can. Just peek inside.”
He reached in front of her and opened the screen door. The main door was already open, blocking the light from the window at the end of the room. “Go on in. I’ll close the door, and you’ll see the nice set of windows I put in.”
But as he followed her into the house, he noticed that she began to sway on her feet.
“Faith?”
“I-I can’t.” She clutched her stomach, her breath came out in quick gasps, and she dropped to her knees.
When David squatted on the floor beside her, he saw that her face was whiter than the bleached pine cabinets surrounding them.
“What’s wrong?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew what was wrong, and he knew that once more he’d managed to do exactly the wrong thing.