6

Luke Schrock was in trouble again.

Yesterday morning, the town of Stoney Ridge woke to find newly installed stop signs placed at every single intersection, even on sparsely traveled roads. Previously, there had been only two stop signs in town, both along Main Street. Now there were over twenty-five. The morning rush hour traffic, composing largely of milk trucks driven by impatient drivers eager to get to the dairies for the day’s delivery, inched through town.

Because the town of Stoney Ridge was unincorporated, no one quite knew who had approved the new stop signs or who was to blame. There was no mayor or city government, only the sheriff’s office. So that’s who people complained to. The police officers were as baffled as everyone else.

Working on a hunch, Matt Lehman came looking for Ruthie’s father. Together, they went to the Inn at Eagle Hill and asked Rose to take a quick look into some of the outbuildings. In the last one Matt peered into, an old shack used for storing hay, he found the crude makings of a sheet metal shop, including pieces of sheet metal, soldering tools, stencils, and paint to replicate red traffic stop signs.

Back at home, Ruthie overheard her father explain to Birdy what he and Matt had discovered. Apparently, last night Luke and his devoted following of lowlife friends had quietly installed the stop signs throughout the town.

“Just for kicks,” Luke had said, when Ruthie’s father asked why he did such a thing. Luke seemed untroubled by the fact that he would probably be charged with a misdemeanor.

“The thing is . . . they were really quite masterful,” Ruthie’s father said. “Luke had replicated those stop signs down to the exact kind of bolt. They were identical to the county signs. It’s too bad he can’t take that brain of his and use it for something productive. He has the ability to aggravate the police department in spectacular ways.”

Ruthie agreed wholeheartedly. She had tried and tried to convince Luke to take the GED with her, but he scoffed at it. He said he didn’t need a piece of paper to tell him he was a genius. When she pointed out that the GED might be useful in persuading other people—such as a future employer—of his brilliance, Luke said he already had big plans in motion. He was always on the point of doing something, on the point of going somewhere.

So Ruthie took the test alone one Saturday morning in May, after studying for it in the barn all spring, and the results had arrived in today’s mail. Her hands shook as she opened the envelope and read the scores:

Science:	610
Mathematics:	590
Social studies:	750
Language arts:	written 780
Language arts:	reading 790

She needed a score of 2,250 to pass. She had a score of 3,520. She added the numbers four different times, just to make sure they were correct.

She had passed.

On her first try! She, Ruthie Stoltzfus, had the equivalent of a high school diploma.

She could do anything now. Anything! Go to college. Find a job. Travel. Anything.

The world was her oyster.

Her aunt Dok was the only one with whom she planned to share the news of passing the GED, the only one who would understand how monumental this piece of paper was, the only one who would celebrate its significance with her. Whenever Ruthie was around Dok, she felt this world of otherness open up to her. Other options, other choices, other ways of living.

So, that afternoon when she stopped by her aunt’s new practice, it came as somewhat of a blow when Dok didn’t automatically congratulate her but instead asked her why she had taken the test. “Did you want to see how smart you are? Because you didn’t need a test to tell you that.”

“No, not at all. I took it because, well, because I want options.”

“For what? What is it you want to do with your life?”

“I want . . . to matter.”

“That’s a wonderful goal, Ruthie, but how? And why? What’s driving that desire? If you leave home, do you have a plan? Do you have money saved up?”

This conversation wasn’t going at all the way Ruthie had hoped it would. Her aunt didn’t even crack a smile as she read the scores. Instead, she folded the paper carefully, slipped it into the envelope, and handed it back to Ruthie, who now regretted showing her the results at all. Instead of answering her aunt’s questions, Ruthie flipped them around. “So how did you know what you wanted to do with your life? I’m constantly trying to figure it out.”

“I’m not sure I had it figured out. Certainly not when I was seventeen.” Dok leaned back against her desk. “At that age, I was chiefly motivated by making my mother mad.” She lifted her eyebrows. “And it worked.”

Ruthie was stunned. “That’s why you’re a doctor? Just to make Mammi mad?”

“No, but that was why I went to college. The decision to go to medical school came later, after I realized I couldn’t go back to the life I once had.”

“Go back?” Ruthie was stunned. “Why in the world would you have wanted to go back?”

“Because making my mother mad wasn’t a very good reason to leave the Amish. In fact, it was a pretty immature decision.”

“But . . . you’re a doctor! You’re important.”

Dok tilted her head. “Ruthie . . . work is important. But it isn’t work that makes a person important. That’s something that has to be settled between you and God.” She reached out and put a hand on Ruthie’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s just too soon for you to try to figure things out. Maybe that’s why you feel uncertain of what to do. Just remember that God has a plan for your future. Wait, Ruthie. Watch and wait for God’s timing. You’ll know it when it comes. I wish I’d realized that truth when I was young, like you. I’d have been far more careful about the choices along the way, instead of those that seemed important or self-satisfying at the time. Decisions you make now can be very . . . far-reaching. Good ones and bad ones.”

Ruthie sensed her aunt wanted to say even more but was holding herself in check, and frankly, she didn’t want to hear any more. She felt deflated. She glanced around her aunt’s office—it was a disaster. Boxes waiting to be emptied, desk piled with books and papers and file folders. “Looks like you’re pretty busy.”

Her aunt’s gaze drifted around the room. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

Ruthie walked to the doorjamb, then spun around with an idea. “I could help. Just get things put away. I’ve got some time today.” Until the Inn at Eagle Hill was given the all clear to reopen, she wasn’t needed there, and the last thing she wanted to do was to work at the Bent N’ Dent. If her dad knew she had free time, he would expect her behind the cash register.

That offer brought the first bright, honest-to-goodness smile on her aunt’s face, the one Ruthie had expected to see when she showed her the GED scores. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes. I would love the help.”

Ruthie got right to work, cheered up. For the moment.

Ruthie set up a rigorous daily schedule of tutoring Patrick Kelly in Penn Dutch. Partly, she believed this was the best way to learn a language. Partly, she wanted the money. She might not have a plan figured out yet for her future, but she knew a fat savings account would be essential to success.

She gave Patrick fifty vocabulary words to memorize each day, quizzed him, and corrected his pronunciation with impatient annoyance. He had studied German in high school so there was a foundation to work from, but as a dialect, Penn Dutch sounded different, vowels in particular. “Patrick, listen carefully. You keep making the u sound as an uh sound. It needs to be u like ewe. You need to listen and practice.”

“Immersion.”

“What?”

“That’s how to learn a foreign language. Total immersion. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“Well, then. Immerse yourself. Stop talking in English.”

A look of panic hit him. “I . . . can’t. I would hardly speak. I can barely understand Penn Dutch.”

“You have to try.”

“But I am trying!”

“Not hard enough. Try harder. Like now.” She opened a children’s book. “Repeat after me: Eise verharde nemmt viel Hitz.” Much heat is required to harden iron.

“Eise verharde nemmt viel Hitz.”

“Da elephant is gros un groh. Eah’s oarich shtaut un sadda shloh.” The elephant is huge and gray. He’s very strong and sort of slow.

Patrick repeated what she had said, then his face crinkled up in confusion.

“Da monkey find sich so di haym mitt en banana draus in di baym.” The monkey feels at home with a banana out in the trees.

He stared at her intently, and she could see he was thinking very hard about what she said.

“Oh boy. Ruthie, the thing is, I’m not sure these particular phrases would be ones I would need to use very often.”

“Stop talking in English!”

At just that moment, David walked into the kitchen. “Ruthie, hab Geduld!” Have patience. “You sound a little tough on your student.”

Ruthie looked up in utter surprise. “Patrick wants me to be tough. He told me he plans to be fluent by the end of the month.”

Patrick nodded. “She’s right. I want her to be tough on me. Full immersion.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Kannschtt du Pennsilfaanisch Deitsch schwetze?” Can you speak in Pennsylvania Dutch?

Patrick’s eyebrows lifted in panic. “Unwohl.” Not well.

“Nau is awwer ball Zeit!” Now is the time!

Patrick paled.

“Ruthie, I don’t think yelling at him is going to help him.” David took a green apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter and sliced it into slivers, then sprinkled the slices with ground cinnamon. He put the apple slices in two bowls, one for himself and one for Ruthie and Patrick. “Immersion. In a way, it’s like learning to listen to God, isn’t it? Immersing yourself in prayer. Developing an ear. Daily practice. Practicing daily.”

Patrick reached for a handful of slices. “Maybe it’s a little like learning obedience.”

David lit up. “Yes. Exactly that, Patrick. You haven’t heard God until you’ve heeded God.”

Oh no. That was one of her father’s all-purpose sayings. Ruthie sensed a sermon was about to unfold.

Her dad took a bite of apple, chewed, swallowed. “You might have just helped me work out a sermon illustration.”

Patrick was clearly intrigued. “How so?”

Ruthie had to cut this off before the two of them got carried away into a long and boring theological quagmire. When would her student ever learn? “Pennsilfaanish Deitsch!”

Patrick panicked. “Oh boy . . .” You could see his mind strain and search for words. “Gfalle! Es . . . hot . . . mer . . . gut . . . gfalle.” I was well pleased with that.

A smile lifted the corners of Ruthie’s mouth, ever so slightly. “Besser.” Ruthie didn’t mean to sound so mad at Patrick. In fact, she was actually starting to enjoy him. She sensed something different about him but couldn’t pinpoint what.

He wasn’t handsome, certainly not the way Luke Schrock was handsome. He had a broad forehead and a Roman nose and a long throat with an Adam’s apple that was a tiny bit too prominent. But it was a likable face. The honest brown color of his eyes, the crinkles at their corners, the cleft in his chin, the thoughtfulness over that high brow.

She gave her father a smug look. “Er is alli Daag am besser warre.” He’s improving every day.

“If his mental health can take it.”

“Don’t worry about me, David. I told Ruthie that I was willing to do whatever it takes. And I’m tougher than I look.”

Ruthie’s smile faded and she pounded the table with her fists. “Pennsilfaanish Deitsch!”

Patrick nearly jumped out of his chair. David walked past him, patted him on the shoulder and whispered, “Amazing to think you’re paying for this privilege.”

As the horse and buggy crested the hill, David saw the blue-dark outline of the ridge. Above it hung the gibbous moon. He didn’t usually notice such things—those were the details of life that gave Birdy such joy. Maybe she was rubbing off on him? He slowed the horse down to a walk, then to a stop. How long had it been since he’d stopped to gaze at the night sky above? It seemed years. Beneath a starlit sky, it was all too easy to forget there was anything pressing in, anything demanding his attention.

He was driving home from the Sisters’ House after what he had hoped would be a brief check-in on Ella, whose health was fading. Those old sisters were night owls and kept him far too late, but he couldn’t pull himself away. Not only did they have riveting stories, but they gave him black-as-coal coffee without a single warning of how it would affect his stomach ulcer. The real stuff! Not decaf. Life was too short as it was to miss out on good coffee, they said. And it was delicious. Strong, too, which was probably why he was wide awake after midnight. But best of all, he felt as if he were eighteen years old again when he was with those lively old sisters.

Thistle shifted her weight and suddenly David realized a man was walking down the road, toward the buggy. “Patrick, what are you doing out at this hour?”

Patrick seemed just as surprised to see David. “It was so hot that I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d just walk a while in the quiet of the night.”

“Hop in. I’ll take you home.” Patrick was walking in the opposite direction, but David didn’t feel right about leaving him alone, so he didn’t pose it as a question. The boy seemed tired. No, not tired. Worried. David knew that look because he wore it so often himself. “Everything okay?” he asked as Patrick climbed in the passenger side of the buggy.

“Everything’s fine,” Patrick said, in a too-quick way that made David think everything wasn’t fine. “Lately I’ve just had trouble sleeping.”

“Too much on your mind?”

“No. Not really. I think it’s because . . . time is passing so quickly.” His voice was thick with feeling. “I don’t want to miss anything. The stars at night. The first birdsong in the morning. Catching the first hint of dawn as it rises above the ridge behind Eagle Hill.”

David understood Patrick’s reasoning. “When I was your age, I milked cows for a neighbor. There’s something about getting up and going out in the middle of the night that gives an edge to your start of the day. I used to feel as if I had those nights all to myself.” He felt a unique intimacy with God during that year and often wondered if it had to do with those predawn hours. No distractions. No demands. The whole village slept, he alone was awake.

“Yes. Yes, you understand. It’s almost like time slows down.” Patrick settled back onto the buggy’s bench, relaxing a little. “Before I knew I wanted to become Amish, I thought I might become a monk. I think they know what they’re doing when they get up in the middle of the night to pray.”

A monk. A life set apart, devoted to vows made to God: obedience, chastity, poverty. Interesting. A monk’s life held a certain appeal, David thought, but not so much the chastity part. He felt a renewed contentment with the life God had given him. “I’m curious about the expectations you had for the Amish. Do they line up with what you’re observing on your walks?”

“Pretty much,” Patrick said. “The Bent N’ Dent was a surprise.”

“How so? Don’t tell me you thought the Amish lived entirely self-sufficient lives.” The misconceptions about the Plain life amused David. One woman came into the store last week and wondered if the Amish ate only raw food. When David asked her why she assumed such a thing, she said, with absolute confidence, it was because the Amish had no stoves. David pointed to the woodstove in the store and the woman was amazed. Later that evening, he repeated the customer’s conversation with Birdy and she hooted with laughter. “Someday,” Birdy said, “I want to write a book called We’re Not as Dumb as We Look.” David said he would start writing down conversations with non-Amish customers for her.

Patrick fanned himself with his hat. “I guess it’s what was in the store that surprised me. So many products of processed foods. Canned goods, cereal boxes, cake mixes. Even a freezer full of frozen prepared foods.” He shrugged. “I guess I just hadn’t thought the Amish would heat up Stouffer’s frozen lasagna like anybody else.”

“Summertime, especially, can be very busy for the farming families.” But it occurred to David that over the last two years he had, indeed, stocked the store with more and more prepared products. Why was that? Because customers requested them.

Patrick laughed. “And I really didn’t expect to see a pizza delivery man arrive at an Amish house!”

Ah. He would be referring to last night’s dinner at the Stoltzfuses’ home. Birdy had been helping Katrina all day and asked David to bring something home from the store. He had completely forgotten and ended up calling for a pizza delivery.

“Mostly though, I was shocked by the Sunday tradition.”

“Church is only held every two weeks. Next Sunday will be an off-Sunday.”

“I know about the every-two-weeks tradition. But I thought Sunday was a do-nothing day for the Amish. A day set apart.”

“Yes, that’s what all Sundays are supposed to be. Off-Sundays and church Sundays. The Sabbath.”

“But what about the quilt shops that were open? I saw tour buses stopping at farmhouses.”

David’s eyebrows shot up. “Certainly not to Amish homes.”

“I’m pretty sure they were stopping at Amish homes. Starting at the Fisher Chicken & Hatchery. Hank Lapp was in the roadside stand as I passed by, selling eggs.”

“You’re sure it was Sunday? Maybe you had it confused with Saturday?”

Patrick gave him a funny look. “Oh boy. I hope I didn’t get it mixed up. I don’t think I did. But maybe . . . No. No, I’m sure I had it right.”

David was silent.

“My church back home was the same way.”

“What way was that?” David asked. Patrick attended a Catholic church, a very orthodox one, he had said. What would that have in common with an Old Order Amish church?

“The priest tried to make everyone follow the Sabbath, but no one really did. Other than an hour or so at church in the morning, it was a day like any other.”

A day like any other? David felt uneasiness stir as he drove up the steep driveway to the house. It worsened as he put Thistle in her barn stall and gave her a handful of oats as a thank-you for a later-than-usual night. Patrick’s frank observations swept away any lingering delight of the evening with the old sisters and left him with a bothersome case of caffeine-induced insomnia.