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“You did it,” Jacob said, looking up at the tree. “I can't believe you actually did it.”
“And all by myself,” Mark said, standing proudly at the base of the pine tree, which was now covered in Christmas lights. “I was going to ask for your help, but I heard you were beating up Mr. Weaver.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jacob said. “I got him good.”
“That's what I heard,” Mark laughed. “Actually, I heard they'll be picking pieces of you off the lawn for years to come.”
“He was so fast....” Jacob muttered conceding the point.
“Well, he spends all day building houses. You spend all day...well what do you do all day?”
“I don't know,” Jacob admitted. “He knocked the memories out of me.”
“So I have some lights left,” Mark said, still chuckling. “We need to run it over to the generator beside the school.”
“Do you think I should be there?” Jacob asked. “You know, with everyone else? “
“All you did was punch Mr. Weaver,” Mark said. “It's not like no one else's thought of it at one time or another. Come on, help me run this cord.”
They dragged the cord through the snow, slowly and carefully, finding that it barely reached the school. “You made a mistake. Everyone makes them from time to time. Remember? You are not perfect. Did you get in trouble with your folks?”
“Yes, and no. I think they felt I had been beaten up enough, so they took at easy on me.”
“You must have really looked bad.” Mark laughed at him. “I know Mr. Weaver hates you, but I didn’t think he would violate the Ordnung to prove it.”
“He didn’t exactly start it, which is why he’s probably not in that much trouble.”
“I know the church elders talked with him, so I do not know what will come of all of that.”
“He beat up Deborah. He gave her a black eye and she was limping.” Mark felt defensive. He didn’t just run around the community taking on guys twice his size for no reason. The fact that he was still alive spoke to the level of anger he felt for Mr. Weaver, either that or it spoke to the charity of the man in spite of his anger.
“It is his right as a father to discipline his daughter,” Mark pointed out straightening out the string of lights. “It is not your place to interfere.”
Jacob stopped untwisting the lines and stared straight at Mark. “I know that; I’m not a complete idiot. However, there is a fine line between discipline and cruelty. She looked like she was beat within an inch of her life. I know she had – has lots of bruises beneath her clothes.”
“And, how do you know that?” Mark pushed his black hat back on his head and looked back at his friend with a quizzical, cool-blue gaze.“
Jacob took a breath. “Because I’ve seen how people move when someone has beaten the shit out of them, and Deborah was moving like that. I know, because I’ve had the crap beat out of me in my life, and I’ve moved like that. It’s hard to breathe; you move slowly so that it doesn’t hurt so much. I know.”
Mark looked away for a moment, thinking. “Then, she must really care for you,” he said finally.
“Huh?” Now it was his turn to be confused.
“If she took a beating like that, then she must really care for you.” Mark looked at him again. “She would have shut up long before it came to that. We know when it’s time to stop arguing with our parents, and if Deborah didn’t stop with a man like her father, then she must really care for you.”
Jacob opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Mark was right; she must really care because she could have stopped talking long before he punched her in the face. The simple yet obvious conclusion had eluded him prior, but now that Mark had pointed it out, there could be no other deduction, and in spite of the fact that Deborah was beaten up, he felt like smiling. “It's going to look like a zip line once you turn it on,” Jacob said changing the subject. He didn’t want to get into a long, drawn out discussion with mark on Deborah’s feelings for him or worse still, his feelings for her. It was one of the biggest reasons he was so hesitant to take Sherry up on her proposition. It would mean he left the community, and Deborah played a big part in that decision; that, and the fact that he didn’t think he could make it on his own if he was emancipated. He had just gotten used to depending on a family, and he wasn’t quite ready to give that up yet.
“What's a zip line?” Mark interrupted his line of thought.
“It's uh...well, it's nothing,” Jacob said as he handed Mark the line.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” Mark said as he bent down and plugged the cord into an open outlet. Nothing happened. He looked back at the tree, now a fair distance away. “Uh...”
“Yeah...” Jacob said. “I could have told you that. For this to work, all of the lights need to be plugged in and working. Just one missing or broken light will throw the whole thing off.”
“So what do we do?” Mark asked, scratching his head.
“I'm not doing anything, and you probably won't either. We'd have to check every single light and maybe even replace a few.”
“Oh, there were some extra lights in the box!” Mark said excitedly.
“Uh...Mark,” Jacob said. “Half the lights are up in the tree, well, more than half. You will have to climb up there and check every single one of them, and I know you don't want to do that. Plus, we have to get in there, for the pageant.”
“Well, you go in then,” Mark said as he took off toward the tree. “I'm going to fix this!”
“Sure you are,” Jacob said, shaking his head. “Sure you are.”
It wasn't long before people began showing up at the school, and Jacob did his best to blend in, though he felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. The desks were removed, presumably stored in the basement of the school, which Jacob had heard of but never actually seen. Instead of desks, rows of folding chairs had been set up throughout, and the front of the school was converted into a sort of stage where a holiday scene was now displayed. Sarah and Deborah had done an outstanding job of preparing for this event.
Jacob glanced across the aisle and saw Mr. Weaver sitting directly across, though he did not seem to have noticed – yet. Jacob sunk back into his chair staring straight ahead. Even if he did notice, he would be kind enough not to make a scene. That was probably an unrealistic wish. The next time he looked across, Mr. Weaver was staring right at him, which nearly made Jacob jump out of his seat. The only gesture Mr. Weaver made, however, was the customary I am watching you sign. Jacob eyes widened as he sank back into his seat, staring straight ahead. The children began to sing:
Ten little candles, Jesus bade them shine,
But selfishness just snuffed one out, and there were nine. Nine little candles, one without a mate, Bad companions came along, and then there were eight. Eight little candles, doing work for heaven,
"I forgot" sat down on one, and then there were seven. Seven little candles, all with blazing wicks,
Someone cried out, "Goody Boy," and there were six. Six little candles, all of them alive,
But one was tired of playing, and then there were five. Five little candles, once there were more,
Sunday baseball fanned one out, and then there were four. Four little candles, bright as bright could be,
But one of them just didn’t have time, so then there were three. Three little candles, could one of them be you?
That one gave up going to church, and then there were two. Two little candles, our story’s almost done;
"I’m too small, no use," one cried, and then there was one. One little candle, left all alone,
It kept on burning by itself, and oh how bright it shown. Brave and steady burned the flame, until the other nine, fired by its example, once again began to shine.
At the end of the song, the child with the remaining candle helped to re-light the others, and then they moved on to the next part of the pageant. They re-told the story of Jesus from birth to exile in Egypt. Though he was ashamed to admit it, Jacob thought he might have actually learned a few things here. Above all, he couldn't help but feel good. Once again, he was struck at the seriousness of the Amish faith, and the way they truly believed. This simply wasn't something that you were going to find in an English church, no matter which denomination he thought. He had seen it before, having been forced to attend Mass a few times in his day.
People would pile in on Sunday morning, ready and willing to confess their sins, and presumably start anew in their lives. The moment they exited, they were back to their old ways. In fact, Jacob had once caught the priest smoking after a long sermon on 'treating your body like a temple'. It all seemed highly counterproductive and hypocritical. Here though, things were different. People actually lived what they preached and heard. It was an amazing concept, and one that Jacob was still getting used to.
The pageant ended and everyone began to file out. It seemed that Sarah's endeavors had gone off without a hitch. The children stayed behind, presumably to talk about their accomplishment, but Deborah was nowhere to be seen. Jacob wanted to see her, badly, but he was beginning to wonder if it was truly worth it. Instead of looking, or asking Sarah, he simply piled out of the church with everyone else. As with after prayer at various houses, everyone stopped on the lawn of the one-room school house to visit with one another briefly in spite of the frigid weather. As with every other time,
Jacob had no one to talk to as Mark was out there working on the lights of the tree. He wandered around, wishing Sarah would come out of the school, when, suddenly, a bright light appeared in the distance, about two hundred yards away. Bright, colorful lights...of course. Mark had managed to light his Christmas tree.
“Merry Christmas everyone!” Jacob shouted from the top of the tree as every eye turned to him. “Merry—”
Mark took that moment to lose his grip and fell into a tree, breaking at least ten branches as he plummeted toward the ground. Jacob could barely see it, but he certainly heard it.
“I'm okay!” Mark shouted jumping to his feet and dusting the snow off his clothes. He looked embarrassed and was half- laughing at himself. “It looked worse than it was!” He gave the crowd a quick bow, removing his hat, blond hair flapping in the chilled breeze. He put his hat on and gave the few onlookers a quick smile.
A slow and distinct murmuring traveled through the crowd behind the school.
“Tell Mark goodbye, and we’ll head home,” Thomas said as he walked past and patted Jacob on the shoulder.
“Sure thing, daed.” Jacob replied and began walking toward the tree where Mark had fallen. He had actually done a great job with the lights, though they were a bit crooked now that he had fallen through the branches. “Jacob?” A woman's voice said. “Jacob Marshall?”
He turned around to see an English woman, standing there in a long winter coat, a scarf, and holding a leather messenger bag. She was older, perhaps in her fifties.
“Yes, that’s me.” Jacob had a half-smile on his face. She was not of the community, and he wondered how she knew his name.
“I’m your new social worker.” He felt that old sinking feeling in his gut. They were back to mess up his life, just when he had managed to sit through the event with Mr. Weaver, who acknowledged his presence and he’d figured out the Deborah “cared a lot” for him. It never failed that the other shoe would drop just when he was making progress.
“Oh hell,” Jacob said. “Not you people again.” Mark looked confused staring first at her and then at his friend.
“I'm afraid so,” she said. “We've assessed the situation here in Hope Crossing, and we've decided that this place is far too dangerous. In addition to that, the education situation isn't exactly up to par.”
“You have been out here for ten minutes that I know of. And, before that, I have never seen you before. How have you ‘assessed’ anything?” He felt that old anger swelling in his stomach. These people never give up; first, his mother turns up and now a new social worker.”
“My name is Ms. Gruber. I took over from your last social worker.” The woman closed her coat against the chill. She had a folder in her hand. “Carol was her name, right? Well, you can call me Peggy or Ms. Gruber. I have your case now. I thought your foster parents would have gotten notice that I was coming.”
“I don’t think they got any notices, but even if they did, why are you here?”
“I’m here,” Ms. Gruber shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, “to take you back to the city, back to the group home where things will be up to par.”
“You mean it's not up to par if I don't plan to stay here,” Jacob said. “I plan to stay here. I want to stay here. Can't you understand that? This is my home now. And, I want to be emancipated so I can get away from you people.” He added that last line as an afterthought.
“That's a lovely thought,” The social worker said. “But, there have been some changes to the system while you've been out in... whatever this god awful place is. You now have to be sixteen to be emancipated or make decisions regarding your welfare. You're still fifteen.”
She looked vaguely like a witch to him; all she needed was the pointy hat and broom to ride on. She already had the bulgy nose with a wart on top, bad teeth, fat body and stringy dark hair. Maybe he was exaggerating a little, but he hated social workers with the exception of Carol, who was apparently gone. Now he was stuck with grubby Broomhilda or whatever the heck her name was.
“You people,” Jacob said, pointing an angry finger at her. “You can't just keep showing up in my life and telling me where I can and can't live. “
“Oh, yes we can,” The social worker snapped back. “This is for your benefit, not ours.”
“It's for nobody's benefit!” Jacob screamed, drawing the attention of the Mast family who were gathering their things and getting into the buggy over in the gravel parking lot. “It's so you can wake up in the morning and feel like you did something good! It's so you can collect a damn paycheck! You don't care; none of you cares about me!” He realized his voice was shrill, but he didn’t care.
“If you don't calm down, I can call the police in,” She said with a sickening calm in her voice. “They're just down the road.”
“Of course they are,” Jacob spat. “You can never do your job without a couple of hired guns.”
“Now hold on a minute,” Thomas said, walking over to survey the scene. “What's going on here?”
“Ah, here you are,” The social worker said, turning to Thomas. “The hooligan that lets this boy get away with whatever he pleases. Tell me, do you let all your children play with axes and drive carts on the road?”
“I'm sorry,” Thomas said. “But you're talking about our way of life here. We have to collect wood, and we have to move it around. I make furniture, and others work construction; it's just a fact of life, and you can't fault us for it.”
“I can, and I have. Jacob will be remanded to the group home until he can decide for himself where he wishes to go. Perhaps, if you choose to register as foster parents, you can apply to house him again. Then again, it can take us some time to go through all of those applications. You never know.”
“None of this makes sense,” Jacob said. “You're saying if I were sixteen, I could stay. And they are my foster parents; Carol took care of all of that already.” He felt Thomas’ hand on his shoulder, but he couldn’t stop talking. “You come in here, and you tell me, ne, order me to return to a group home where I won’t learn anything, the food is crappy and I have no friends. And, in that place, you want me to decide where I want to live. Well, I don’t need to go all the way back to the city to decide I want to stay here.”
“Like I said,” Ms. Gruber raised her voice, “some of the rules changed while you were away. It works much more efficiently this way. Now, we need to pick up your things from the Mast residence, and we'll be on our way. I think I'll have one of the officers take you back. I don't feel entirely safe with you riding in my car.”
“What do you think I’m going to do? Hurt you? If you think that then you know nothing about these people or what I’ve learned and who I’ve become. You have nothing to fear from me. Matthew 5:30 says: ‘But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.’ So, I will turn the other cheek that you have hurt, but I know you’re wrong, Broomhilda.” He couldn’t resist the Broomhilda reference, and judging from the reddening in her face and downturned lips, she understood his reference.
“You dare quote the Bible to me?” she hissed,
“What is a ‘Broomhilda’?” Thomas asked softly looking at Jacob.
“Then you call me a cartoon witch? How dare you!” Ms.
Gruber was almost spitting, but Jacob stood his ground.
“I said I wouldn’t harm you, Broomhilda. I speak the truth when I call you a cartoon witch. You come out here making demands and assumptions. You don’t even know me. You just have a file on me.”
“That is very true,” a new voice interrupted, “Jacob, when I found out that Ms. Gruber had taken it into her head to come here, I came as fast as I could.” It was Carol approaching from the parking lot.
“Oh god,” The social worker said, rolling her eyes. “What are you doing here?” Clearly, she was not ready for this type of confrontation. “I am within my rights –“
“No, you’re not. I told you when I was promoted over you that Jacob Marshall was a special case, my case, and it would remain ‘my case’ until he left the foster care system. Has something changed that I don’t know about?”
Ms. Gruber sputtered before saying anything. “You can't just show up, this is my case.”
“No,” Carol said softly, “Jacob Marshall is my case, and I'd appreciate it very much if you'd keep your nose out of it.”
“Jacob Marshall is coming back to the group home, with me,” Ms. Gruber stood firm in her conviction. “This place is a death trap. “
“I think any judge would laugh you out of court,” Carol said. “Besides, those new law changes you pushed for don't actually apply here.”
“Oh? And why not?”
“Paperwork error,” Carol said, pulling a manila folder from her satchel. “Jacob is sixteen, and the Masts are a licensed foster. He can stay here if he wants.”
“Wait,” Jacob said. “I'm sixteen?”
“Kid,” Carol said, shaking her head. “You're one of the most amazing young men I've ever met, but you are just no good at math. You'd think you would have noticed that you'd had sixteen birthdays.”
“I...” Jacob started to speak, but then shut his mouth to avoid looking like an idiot. After all, he'd managed to go from fourteen to sixteen in a matter of weeks, and that in itself suggested something about his intelligence. He sighed and remained silent.
“Additionally,” Carol said. “Jacob is free to petition the court for emancipation whenever he wishes though I would suggest doing it soon.”
“Why?” Thomas asked. “He can hang on a few more years.”
“And deal with this system?” Carol asked, raising an eyebrow. “You can't talk about it like that,” Ms. Gruber interrupted again,
“We uphold that system—”
“Shut up,” Carol said, raising a gloved hand. “Keep your opinions to yourself, and I want my stapler back at the office.
The woman huffed and stomped off.
“I don't suppose you can make me eighteen can you?” Jacob said it with a grin, but he wasn't joking in the least.
“Come on Jacob,” Carol said. “It was an actual mistake. We can't keep everything straight all the time. Now there is the issue of your mother...”
“Can she really take me away?” Jacob demanded.
“Not yet,” Carol said, “she would have to petition the courts, but there's still no reason for her to stay away from you. She hasn't done anything illegal that I know of.”
“What should he do?” Thomas asked.
“If you want my advice,” Carol said, “you need to talk to her. The more to stay away, the more determined she is going to become. She has money. She already set up an office here. Next thing you know, she will buy the entire town to get your attention. She might even buy the recipe for the Whoopie Pies, who knows?”
“I doubt that,” Thomas said. “Rachel is very protective of her Whoopie pie recipe.”
“That's a shame; they're very good, but we're off topic. You need to go speak with her, and you need to find out what she wants. Maybe she just wants to get to know you.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Jacob admitted. “Listen, I know the idea of change is hard for you. You've had nothing but change your entire life, but maybe this time it won't be so bad. I say go give it a try.”
