Chapter Twelve
“THIS DOCHDER COULD serve as a link to your past away from our faith,” the bishop observed. “Might she remind you often of those times, people you knew? Even if she doesn’t pull you away from the Leit in the flesh, she might turn your heart away.”
He and Luke strolled in a circle around the vegetable garden at the Kline home. The garden was undoubtedly watered daily, but the corn in an adjoining field looked drier than it should, Luke noted with a small part of his attention. After a dry late spring and early summer, the leaves on apple, plum, and peach trees hung limp.
A rabbit hopped behind the tomato plants. A rabbit lucky that Katie-Ann hadn’t see it. She might be chasing it with her shovel already.
High above, the distinctive shape of a chimney swift soared.
Luke was taking care to allow himself a moment before he answered. He must fight any hint of temper or even defensiveness. Bishop Amos was a wise man, chosen over twenty years ago to guide his brethren to faith in the Lord and His teachings.
“No,” Luke said at last, calmly. “Abby’s mother is dead. She would have been the only tie that meant anything. In making sure that social worker found me, she made her wishes clear. Despite whatever drove her away from her own family and church, she asked that I raise our daughter to walk with God. She spoke of the faith that I had been raised with. I believe she’d be glad to know that Abby has the same chance to rejoice in the fellowship among us.”
Clasping his hands behind him, Amos nodded. “You relieve my mind, Luke. I believe you came home humbled, genuinely changed from the headstrong boy I remember. It’s a blessing indeed that this child was brought to you, and now, when you’re ready for her.”
“I think so, too,” he agreed. “Although jumping into being a father like this is a little like discovering the pond is so deep, I don’t know if I can make it to the surface or ever breathe again.”
Amos chuckled. “Every new father feels that way. You must trust in God to guide you. This may be the Lord’s way of hinting that you find a helpmeet.”
“I have that in mind,” he said simply.
“I’m told you’ve been taking Abigail with you to work each day.”
Having expected this, Luke said, “Just for this week. I tried leaving her with Mamm on Wednesday, but she was so frightened she squeezed behind the toilet and shook all over. I knew that she liked and trusted Julia, who is Daad’s and my employee. She was kind enough to watch over Abby.”
Bishop Amos said nothing, which drove Luke to continue. “I’ve been eating dinner with my parents every night to give Abby a chance to get to know Mamm and Miriam, especially. Miriam has stopped by at the store daily, too, bringing cookies. Abby has gotten so she’s really happy to see her.”
Another laugh. “I confess to searching for your sister’s cookies at our fellowship meals. They are very fine.”
Luke smiled. “They are.”
“Abby speaks no Deitsh?”
“She doesn’t speak at all.”
Amos shook his head. “Ja, I had not forgotten. I misspoke.”
Luke answered the real question. “It seems clear she doesn’t understand our language. Her mother must not have used it with her, even though Deitsh was Beth’s first language. That doesn’t help, of course.”
His gaze on a bluebird perched on the gnarly limb of an old apple tree, watching them with head tilted, Amos was quiet for a moment. “But why so frightened?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why she won’t speak, either. It’s not just speech—she doesn’t laugh aloud, or cry out if she’s afraid or falls and skins a knee.” Troubled, Luke continued, “Julia suggested that the clothing our women wear might have scared a girl used to Englisch garments. But now she is becoming accustomed to Mamm, so it’s my intention to have her watch over Abby starting Tuesday. I think Mamm is eager to get to know her new granddaughter better.”
“That seems like the wise course,” Amos agreed, his keen gaze turned now to Luke.
“It was always my intention.”
“Deborah says Abby refused to wear the new dress.”
Luke grimaced. “So far, Abby refuses to wear anything but what she picks out in the morning. If she puts her shoes on the wrong feet, she throws a silent fit if I try to take them off and put them back on. I have trouble standing up to her tears. We have a ways to go.”
“Your mamm is a good one to guide her.”
Luke heard what wasn’t said: You must not let an Englisch woman influence your child.
One who had transformed Abby with the fancy hairdo that had so offended Mamm and probably Bishop Amos.
And yet, Julia’s advice to him could have been given by his mother, or even Amos himself. No, she didn’t speak their language and worshipped at a different church, but she had been everything good to a vulnerable child. After his own experiences, Luke agreed that the decision his people had made to live separate lives was wise. How better to keep God first and families close without all that would tear them apart in the outside world?
It wasn’t as if the Amish were blind to what was happening around them. How could they be, when the challenge to keep families intact became greater and greater? Their young now experimented with modern music, mobile phones, electronic games, and alcohol during the rumspringa time they were all permitted. These days, more of those kids made the decision Luke had, to leave the plain ways for more education or an indefinable something they saw as greater—but most still chose to be baptized and stay within a faith and community that offered a rich if simpler life, one that followed their Lord’s admonitions.
Luke felt in accord with the bishop as they returned to the gathering, but no more settled in his mind about the woman he would see again Tuesday morning.
JULIA SLID INTO the pew, sandwiched between Nick’s solid bulk and a hefty fellow she knew to be a plumbing contractor. He nodded pleasantly at her, as did his wife when she looked to see who’d joined them. Nick greeted them by name, no surprise; he seemed to know everyone in town.
Light fell through stained glass windows to each side of the altar in this beautiful old church. When a few minutes later the doors were closed and the minister stepped behind the lectern, she reached for hope. Today, she needed the comfort of the service. She wanted to feel God’s presence so she could let go of this painful, unreasonable sense of loss.
Five minutes later, she glanced sidelong at her neighbor, who seemed unable to sit still. He arched his back, rolled his shoulders, and gazed at the pastor only briefly between studying his feet or scanning the congregation. His wife wasn’t much better; a minute ago, she’d reached for her purse and was rooting inside it. Paper rustled. Was she secretly checking her phone?
Although, honestly, Julia’s attention wandered, too. The sermon concerned the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector. It might be aimed at those who felt smug only because they went to church every Sunday and tithed, yet didn’t live their faith. Was it too pointed for the contractor and his wife? Or were they paying attention at all?
The pews were half-empty. All she had to do was turn her head to see several people checking their smartphones, texting, or, who knows, maybe playing a computer game.
The church she’d attended in Cleveland had some of the same problems. Attendance had been falling for years. Churches were being shuttered across the country, grand buildings torn down to be replaced by condominiums. People gave lip service to being Christian but didn’t live their faith in the way she tried to do. In fact, dearly though she loved her brother, she could feel his restlessness like electricity in the air even when he didn’t so much as twitch a muscle.
Her dissatisfaction had strengthened since moving to Tompkin’s Mill, maybe because of the time she was spending with the Amish. Their devotion to God was a living thing, central to every decision they made, expressed without apology. She admired that, felt more in common with them in that respect than she did with the members of this church.
Besides, she couldn’t imagine someone new arriving to join a local Amish church district not being welcomed wholeheartedly. Hardly anyone here had even expressed curiosity about her, far less invited her to join a committee or to help with a volunteer project. The few young women who had come up to talk to her so blatantly had their eyes on Nick, it was hard to work up a glow at their friendliness.
And, ugh, maybe the sermon was aimed at her. Wasn’t she being smug, criticizing others for a lack of Christian acceptance and forgiveness when she hadn’t exactly gone out of her way to get to know people?
Still, there might be a local church with a more fervent and faithful congregation. She made a mental note to ask Nick if he’d tried others before settling on this one.
Realizing she’d missed the concluding minutes of the sermon entirely, she felt shame creeping up her neck to her cheeks. No, she couldn’t brag about her own attentiveness to God’s word on this day of worship.
Nick nudged her, and she rose to her feet. As she preceded him down the aisle, he spoke to half the people here, relaxed, friendly. A politician. Which, in a way, he was. In Cleveland, he’d been a lieutenant in charge of a homicide unit, with several layers of men and women above him to deal with the city council, mayor, and irate citizens. Here, he had to do it all.
By the time the two of them got out to their roasting hot car, opening the doors and waiting until the air-conditioning kicked in before they dared slide onto the seats, Julia was downright chagrined. Some of the whispers she’d heard during the sermon were probably parents chiding or hushing their children. There might have been elderly who had trouble sitting still. What if the plumbing contractor had a bad back? Some of the people texting could have been doctors staying in touch with staff at the hospital, or young mothers worrying about sick children, or—?
Really, she’d been as judgmental as an intolerant, cranky old woman. Her life was relatively simple; she had so few other people to worry about, because she’d closed herself off even from old friends.
If she’d left Abby with a sitter instead of bringing her along to church, her attention would have been split down the middle, too.
In fact . . . it already was.
“Why the awful face?” Nick asked.
She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m scolding myself for uncharitable thoughts.”
He flashed a grin at her. “No, you?”
Dismayed, she asked, “Am I that much of a prig?”
“What’s a prig?” He oinked.
This time, she stuck out her tongue.
Nick only laughed. “Of course you’re not.” The smile disappeared. “You are more thoughtful than most people, in both meanings of the word. When you do something, you give yourself wholeheartedly to it, but you also guard yourself, if that isn’t a contradiction. What’s wrong with that?”
She knew he was thinking that she had reason to be guarded. It was true, but also crippling. When was the last time she’d really opened her heart to anyone?
But that answer she knew.
Less than a week ago, to a frightened, mute, young girl, Julia realized in dismay. The stab of pain came out of nowhere, yet didn’t surprise her. It was foolish to have become invested in a child she’d always known would be in her life for only a matter of days—but downplaying what she felt didn’t reduce it.
“I’m thinking of going back to school,” she heard herself say, even though she was far from sure she actually wanted to. As she’d browsed university websites last night, a small voice inside questioned her motivation. What if she was trying to fill a deep need in herself for the kind of connections other people had? A husband, children, dear friends.
The kind of life fear had stolen from her.
Well, as Nick put it, what was wrong with that? If helping other people’s children filled even a fraction of that hollow space in her, that was better than nothing.
“There’s a lot to consider about that,” her brother said, his very neutrality making her suspect he saw right through her—or doubted she’d be able to move to a strange city, alone, to do the coursework and student teaching.
Looking out the side window, she closed her eyes against the brightness. What were Abby and Luke doing?
But she knew. They were surrounded by their congregation, worshipping God more attentively than she had—and most of all, they were enveloped by loving family that would heal Abby.
All she could do was pray that was so.
ON MONDAY, MIRIAM came over so that Luke could work on his house. He’d found virtually no time to continue stripping wallpaper in the past week, since Abby came into his life. Of course, Bishop Amos would understand if the multiple jobs he needed to complete took longer than he’d originally estimated, but Luke felt a restless need to make progress.
To his greater surprise, Elam arrived barely an hour later and set to work in the dining room, where they’d left off. Luke decided to tackle the small bathroom beneath the stairs—a powder room, Englischers would call it.
As he tore off the first strip, Elam called, “It will be good not to feel I’m being suffocated by flowers when I need to use the toilet.”
“I think this room will still give me claustrophobia even when I’m done,” Luke responded. It had not been designed for a man his size, for certain sure. His shoulders almost spanned the space, and the ceiling slanted over the pedestal sink. Why someone had thought giant cabbage roses entwined with fern fronds on the walls and ceiling would be an improvement, he couldn’t imagine.
He and Elam talked desultorily. Good smells came from the kitchen, where Miriam had apparently determined both to cook and bake so he’d have meals ready. It also overrode the powerful chemical stench of the stripper he was forced to use.
Every now and again, he needed to stretch, and checked on Abby. The first time, she was sitting at the kitchen table coloring, but she jumped down and ran to him, throwing her arms around his leg.
Glad that she wanted him, he scooped her up and carried her back to the table so that he could see her artwork. A black figure—he assumed a horse—faced away from a black rectangle that might have wheels. Her black crayon was worn down compared to the others scattered on the table.
“A black horse,” he said. “That must be Charlie.”
Abby nodded.
“Your drawing is sehr gut.” He had taken to throwing in words in Deitsh, even simple sentences where the meaning was clear. “We’ll hang it on the refrigerator when you’re done.”
If she was pleased, he couldn’t tell, but once he set her back on the chair, she reached for another sheet of paper.
Miriam gave him a wry look over her shoulder. “You stink, bruder.”
He grinned. “Denke. Perhaps we should trade places. Little as you are, you’d fit in the bathroom better than I do.”
“But my cooking is so much better than yours.”
He shook his head in pretend dismay. “Hochmut. Be careful not to say such things where others might hear.”
“I heard!” Elam called from the dining room.
His sister stuck her tongue out, no doubt aiming at both brothers.
As the day went on, Luke had to contort himself to reach the spaces behind the porcelain pedestal sink and the toilet. While he was on his knees, face all but in the toilet bowl, he saw that the linoleum curled up in the corner. Did that mean a leak, and possible rotting floorboards?
Experimentally, he tugged. He couldn’t pull much up without removing the toilet, but he saw wide boards beneath rather than plywood, as befitted the age of the house. Good wood, he thought, pleased. Sycamore, maybe, or maple, but not oak.
He hadn’t meant to tackle the flooring in the house until later. He didn’t like the carpet, especially on the stairs, or the kitchen linoleum, but they were serviceable. Now, sinking back to his heels, he decided to work on flooring as well as walls, room by room. People might think he should finish one job before he started another, but he loved working with wood. Gleaming wood floors would satisfy him and give a better sense of how the house would look eventually.
Ja, and once the toilet and sink were removed, he wouldn’t have to try to squeeze his arm into spaces his sister’s skinny arm might better fit. Or Julia’s. She hardly ate more than Abby, and he didn’t like it.
Had she once been softer, more overtly feminine? Perhaps wearing drab clothing wasn’t enough for her, although paring that softness away might not have been a conscious decision.
He tried to picture her at a happier time in her life, as he had too often.
Elam’s voice drifted to him. “You’re too quiet. Are you hiding out while we do all the work?”
He grimaced. That wasn’t what he’d been doing, but squatting here brooding about a woman who was taboo for him wasn’t any better.
“I’m thinking. A little of that makes work go better, you know.”
His brother snorted and, a moment later, appeared in the doorway. “There’s more wallpaper under there.”
“Of course there is.” The next layer had been tiny sprigs of flowers—he guessed lavender, although because of the discoloration of aging and the glue on the back of the latest paper, it was hard to tell. He stood aside so Elam could look at the wood floor beneath the linoleum, then announced his intention to remove the fixtures before he continued stripping wallpaper and ripped up the ugly linoleum that had been probably laid in the 1950s.
“Ja,” Elam conceded, “that sounds smart. If I think long enough, maybe I can find a better way to finish the dining room.”
They teased each other as Luke checked his brother’s progress, let everyone use the bathroom, then turned off the water behind the toilet and removed the anchor bolts. He carried the toilet out to the back porch, studied it, and made another decision: he would buy a new one.
He had a quick lunch with his brother, sister, and daughter before going back to work with a will, sternly keeping his thoughts from Julia. But his dread of morning, when he would first see her, hovered. He had no doubt she’d have shored up her walls again. He might never again see the glorious smile that had greeted Abby and, yes, him this week.
Better if I don’t, he told himself. Better if he stayed in the workshop and went back to avoiding a woman who drew him in more than was advisable.