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Jacob, as usual, was near the back of the property, mowing the grass this time, when he noticed the police car pulling into the driveway. Trouble had come a knocking. Jacob reached forward and unlatched the safety bar on the wagon he was dragging that held the push mower the Masts used in summer. He waited a moment, as his hands stopped shaking, and then made a beeline for the house, allowing the push mower and wagon to linger behind in the yard.
For some reason, this was one of those off days in the winter when the yard was devoid of snow but full of brownish grass. It could only happen in Pennsylvania, and he had taken it into his head to try to mow the lawn without success. He knew Thomas was probably watching somewhere chuckling. He thought it was a good plan, just as he thought working construction was a good idea.
He rushed toward the back door, pushing through the empty kitchen ducking into the mudroom. He closed the door just as Thomas answered the front door, and he was certain he had not been heard. “Right this way, Sheriff,” he heard Thomas say, as footsteps crossed by the mudroom. For some reason, Thomas much preferred to entertain his guests in the kitchen rather than the living room, though to be honest there wasn't that much of a difference.
“Have a seat,” Jacob could hear Thomas say as the sound of wood on wood filled the kitchen momentarily.
“Thomas,” the sheriff said, “I'm going to get right down to it. Child services is climbing down my throat over the number of underage kids driving carts on the road.”
“Far as I know,” Thomas said, “there's no age limit, as long as they can hook it up and drive it safely. I mean we try to make sure they're tall enough to—”
“Maybe it's time for those laws to change,” Another voice said. A woman's voice. “These kids are going to get hurt if you people don't keep them under control.” Jacob wondered who the woman was, but whoever she was, he had a bad feeling about her. Her voice sounded to him like nails on a chalkboard, and he envisioned her to have a witch-like countenance complete with pointy nose, squinting eyes and bad teeth. She was probably another burned out social worker who, unlike Carol, sounded like the foster care failures all wrapped up into one skin-covered bag of bones. She cared more for the rules and regulations than she did for the children forced to suffer under them.
“With all due respect,” Thomas said as if he were reading Jacob’s mind, “you keep your 'kids' under control in the city, and look how they turn out. When Jacob came to us, he was undisciplined, depressed, and downright hateful. Now over the past two years I've had the privilege of watching him become a fine young man, someone I'd be proud to call my son.”
“On that note,” the woman said, “there is the matter of the boy's mother. She says you have refused to let her see him. There is no court order preventing it, and she has confirmed that she is willing to take it to court. Our system typically rules in favor of the mother, especially if there's no criminal history or history of abuse—”
“Now wait just a minute,” Thomas said. “I haven't refused anything; she just doesn't stop by when he is here. The boy has chores, school, friends; he has an entire life here. You can't expect the world to stop turning just because someone new comes into the picture.”
“Be that as it may, when the court order comes down, you need to be ready for it,” the woman seemed to be more screeching than talking although that could just be his perspective. “There can't be any ridiculous excuses if you take my meaning. Furthermore, you need to stop that boy from using the cart and from chopping lumber. Have him go to school, come home and do some normal child things; that's what a boy his age should be doing.”
“You think that learning to work with his hands and becoming a good citizen is not natural? Nee, I think that is a ridiculous notion, and soon the state will not have much say in what he does.” Jacob knew that tone from Thomas. He was getting angry. Thomas disliked stupidity and ignorance. In his Amish world, all children learned these things. They were simple, straightforward and kept children busy. It also allowed them to gain skills they would need for the rest of their lives. Since Jacob intended to stay with the Amish, it seemed only natural that he learns the basics of Amish living, too. Now this woman wanted to squelch that learning, and he resented her intrusion.
“Jacob has expressed an interest in staying here. If he's going to do that, then he's going to need to learn his skills.” That was Dorothy speaking. Her voice was quieter than Thomas was, but equally as forceful. “You cannot expect a young man to spend his time going to school, and coming home to do things a little boy would do. He is not a little boy.”
“Be that as it may,” the woman said, “he is still a ward of the state, and we don't want a liability on our hands. Last year, we lost a child to a wood chipper accident as a result of child labor—”
“Er...Ma'am,” the sheriff interrupted, “not to insult the intelligence or intentions of your organization, but I read the suicide note, and I think there was a tad more going on—”
“The point is that a child died,” she said firmly raising her voice to cut off and drown out the sheriff’s objection, “we need to keep that sort of thing from happening again. Frankly, the only reason we do not pull Jacob from this environment is the space situation in the city. I don’t know why his other social worker felt that this sort of rustic living was the best thing for a city kid. However, right now, our only choice is your home or juvenile detention in the county jail. Moreover, since he hasn’t done anything wrong, we feel that isn’t a viable option at this time. However, we will not allow you to put his life in danger. With the exception of that barn burning incident when he first came here, his reports have been excellent.”
Thomas spoke very softly. “The boy did not burn the barn.” Jacob could almost hear the hiss in Thomas’s tone, but he was keeping it under control. “When we have problems with our children, we deal with it amongst ourselves. There is no need to make a formal complaint every time a child makes a mistake. He is a good boy.”
“I understand that. However, he is not your son, Mr. Mast.” “Ya, I know exactly who Jacob is.” Thomas’s response was quick, sharp. Nice sidestep daed. Jacob almost laughed although it would have given away his position in the mudroom.
“We understand your position here.” That was Dorothy again interjecting herself to keep things civil. Jacob had learned quickly that she was the peacemaker of the family, the person who smoothed ruffled feathers and kept tempers in check. She had even talked to Deborah’s father after the barn burning, and later when they had gathered at their house for church, Deborah’s father had greeted him stiffly yet civilly. Jacob had later learned that Dorothy had left a couple scriptures with him:
Jacob gulped, trying to remain absolutely still. Avoidance, it was all about avoidance. If they could not find him, they would be hard pressed to send him back. He had done nothing wrong.
“I think we're done here,” The woman said. “Keep Jacob off the cart and out of the woods, Mr. Mast. In fact, keep your daughter off the cart, too. I don't want to see any children put in danger here.”
“Now Ma'am,” Thomas said. “What I do with my daughter—” “Mr. Mast, I shudder every time I pass through this area. I see
children doing things they should never, ever have the opportunity to attempt. Driving carts, chopping wood, mowing grass, hunting, riding horses; my goodness, it's all an accident waiting to happen.”
“Are you serious?” The sheriff asked as they stood from the table. “Mrs. Sophie, I don't mean to insult you, but as one professional to another, are you sure that keeping a child from riding a horse is the best thing for the child? Not to mention all of the other things that you just said.”
“I am not on any kind of narcotics,” She harrumphed. “Things need to change. Children need to grow up through education and discipline, but not hard labor. Mr. Mast, if you don't change the way you do things around here, you'll lose both children.”
With that, they were gone, out the front door, leaving Thomas behind, and Jacob in the mudroom.
“You hear all that?” Thomas asked. Jacob was only marginally surprised that he knew of his presence in the mudroom.
“I heard. I could kill her you know,” Jacob said, not joking in the least as he opened the door and stepped out of the mudroom.
“I'd rather you did not.”
“The answer is obvious,” Jacob said. “I have to leave. Just tell them I ran away. I'll take my chances out there.”
“While the idea of your becoming a mountain man is amusing,” Thomas said, “This is about more than just you. They can start by threatening me, but the more the English world moves in, the more they are going to expect us to change and adapt. It is not fair, or right, but it is the way it is. We need to make our stand here. I mean we can argue freedom of religion all day, every day, but until someone stands up and refuses to budge, those arguments are meaningless. If you run away now, it will just create more problems for us.”
“So here we are then.” Jacob was angry. He balled his fists to keep from exploding. Who were they to come in and tell him he couldn’t do this or that? Where were they when he was starving on the streets stealing food from fruit stands and being chased by angry shopkeepers wielding deadly weapons of mass destruction? They pop up now when he is finally happy, when he is more than dirt under a shoe, when he is finally standing up and becoming a man. Where were they when he really needed them, back when he was little, terrified and alone?
“Here we are.” Thomas rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “You know, I will fight for you to stay, boy.” He smiled at Jacob and winked, “Even though, you have been nothing but trouble since you arrived.”
Jacob smiled in return. Yeah, now they turn up with rules, regulations and craziness.
