Ten
Jimmy came up the basement stairs and opened the door that led to the kitchen. Hank was alone, near the sink, pouring a cup of coffee. When he saw Jimmy, he took another cup off the wall hook and filled it with coffee. He took it from Hank appreciatively, cupping his hands around the hot mug. It had snowed a few more inches last night, and the light filled the kitchen with a gray-blue color.
“Hooboy,” Jimmy said, “it is cold down there in the basement. I could use an extra quilt or two.”
“YOUR MOTHER DON’T WANT YOU TO GET TOO COMFORTABLE.”
“Yeah?” Jimmy took a sip of coffee. “Why is that?”
“She don’t want you to STAY TOO LONG. She’s planning for you to MARRY Rosemary and go live across the CREEK.”
“Well, that’s not happening. I’m not marrying Rosemary.”
“Well, who, then? SYLVIE? Your mother sure won’t give her blessing for THAT.”
Just at that moment, Edith came into the kitchen carrying a bowl of bread dough from its resting spot on the warm top of the woodstove in the living room. He glanced at his mother, expecting her to snap at Hank, because she must have heard this entire conversation. You’d have to be stone deaf not to hear Hank Lapp. Instead, she raised her eyebrows and pierced him with a startled look. “You are NOT marrying Sylvie Schrock King.”
Jimmy took another sip of coffee, telling himself to remain calm. “Not that I’m planning to marry her, but what do you have against Sylvie?”
She pulled the cloth off the bowl and started punching the dough with her fist. “All kinds of things.”
“Name one.”
Thump, thump, thump. “She’s a cowbird.” Her retort was swift, as if she’d thought this through and had been expecting such a confrontation.
“She’s a what?”
“A cowbird. If you don’t know, ask her. She seems to like birds.”
“I’LL SAY. She keeps encouraging those WOODPECKERS to nest nearby. They’re PECKING HOLES in our siding.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Hank, woodpeckers have been pecking holes in this house’s siding long before Sylvie moved here. That creek draws all kinds of birds. It always has.”
“Just ask her,” his mother repeated. “Ask her what she knows about cowbirds.”
So he did. Later that morning, he accidentally-on-purpose bumped into Sylvie in the tack room as she was getting Prince’s harness. “I heard someone mention a bird I’ve never known. Do you know anything about cowbirds?”
“Cowbirds?” She put her hands on her hips. “Those are the laziest mother birds of all. They don’t even bother to build their own nest. They just wait until they find some other poor unsuspecting bird’s nest and lay their eggs in it. I’ve seen them lay their eggs in red-winged blackbirds’ nests around the creek. Then they let that worn-out mama bird feed all their hatchlings. Usually the cowbirds’ babies are bigger and louder than the other hatchlings. But those poor mama birds don’t know that. They think the cowbird is theirs. Meanwhile, the cowbird parents are whistling away in the creek, growing fat and happy, all through springtime.” She looked at him curiously. “What makes you ask such a question?” Then her face grew solemn and her mouth puckered in an O. “Your mother told you to ask me about cowbirds, didn’t she?”
Cornered, Jimmy stammered a feeble answer. “My mother . . . she isn’t the cunning type.”
Sylvie gave him a pointed look, and Jimmy quickly recanted. “You’re right, she is the type.” He shrugged. “She does have a way of vexing people, I’ll grant you that.”
She tucked her chin for a moment, then looked up. “Why don’t you ask your mother why barn swallows are most like the Amish.”
Jimmy didn’t want to get caught in a war of words between his mother and Sylvie, one he didn’t really understand. He knew he’d be the one to lose that war, caught in the crossfire. “Maybe you should just tell me.”
“Community. Barn swallows work together to raise their young. Everyone helps out to make sure the baby chicks are being well taken care of.” She turned and lifted a foot onto the porch step, then stopped and pivoted. “It takes a flock to raise a barn swallow chick. Remind your mother of that.”
Jimmy was not completely without self-awareness or perception, though no one would ever say he was overly blessed with discernment. But even he knew she wasn’t talking about birds.
Luke Schrock had many character flaws, but avoidance was no longer one of them. Or so he’d thought. He’d made a promise to Izzy that he would run her idea to save babies by David, but when it came right down to it, he found excuse after excuse to avoid doing so. Her grand idea seemed too far-fetched, too outlandish, too bold for a Plain church, too everything. But a promise was a promise, and besides, Izzy nagged him every single day to go talk to David. And finally he’d run out of excuses.
As he drove the buggy into the parking lot of the Bent N’ Dent, he breathed a sigh of relief that there was no sign of Hank Lapp. It was a rare day when Hank wasn’t sitting inside by the stove, playing checkers, or outside on the porch, drinking iced tea. He was fond of Hank, the same way he was fond of creamed onions at Thanksgiving. Once a year was plenty.
David looked up from his desk in the back room when he heard Luke’s knock and gave him a warm smile. You’d think by now that Luke would be accustomed to the pleased look on David’s face when he saw him, but it always hit him as new, always caught him in the heart. Even when Luke was at his worst, David had always seemed pleased to see him.
“Sit down,” David said, pointing to a chair across from his desk. “What’s on your mind?”
As Luke eased into the chair, he wondered how many bottoms had polished this chair seat, bringing their problems to the bishop to solve. He’d sat in this very chair dozens and dozens of times, unloading himself on David. He thought he might have Izzy paint a sign for the Bent N’ Dent office: Stoney Ridge Counseling Center. “You said you wanted ideas to help the church better prepare for Easter in their hearts.”
David’s eyebrows lifted in interest. “Got an idea?”
“Actually, it’s Izzy’s idea.” He passed the newspaper to David and waited for his reaction as he skimmed the story about the state of New York passing the Reproductive Health Act. “Remember when we talked about this?”
“I do.” David set the newspaper down. “This whole topic heralds a darkness to me, a malevolent blackness.”
“New York shares a border with Pennsylvania. You know that if it gets passed there, it won’t be long until it spreads here. That’s how change has happened in the past.”
David nodded. “It’s cause to grieve.”
“Grieve, yes, and maybe to act. We’re meant to be a light in the darkness. To put feet to a prayer.” He had borrowed that quote from Izzy and he liked it.
“Go on.”
“Izzy told me something I can’t get out of my head. If Cassidy had been living in New York State, she might have made a different decision. About Katy Ann.”
“Go on.”
Luke leaned forward in the chair. “The world is full of girls like Cassidy. Girls and women in desperate situations. They’ve run out of hope.”
“Is this about foster care? I’m all for that. You know that. You’re welcome to encourage the church to open their homes again.”
“It’s more than foster care. But I do want our church to open their homes.”
Now David looked completely confused. “So, what are you saying?”
“Izzy suggested that the Amish could provide an alternative to these women.” He took a deep breath before he said, “She wants our church to offer to raise these babies, so that women know there’s another way.”
David leaned back in his chair. “I appreciate the heart of this concern, Luke. I do. But I see only problems.”
“Okay, then, let’s start there. What problem do you see first?”
“It’s not our way. We don’t get involved in political problems.”
“But we’re not. We’re just providing an answer to girls and women who need help and hope. Just like the church did in the book of Acts. Caring for those in need.”
David ran a hand over his bearded chin, pondering.
“What other problems do you see?”
“It’s asking a lot of our families. Most already have six to eight children. Do you really think they would be willing to take in more?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. A year or so ago, only a handful of families in the church were willing to foster children. But those who did foster have stayed connected with their foster children, even after the group home reopened. And now the group home is, well, almost like a favorite charity for our church. The girls who live there are invited to frolics and socials, and Fern teaches cooking classes once a week. Izzy teaches the girls how to knit.”
“It’s one thing to visit once a week. It’s another thing to openly offer a home to an infant. No strings attached. No recourse. No turning back. Like you did with Katy Ann. It’s a pretty radical idea.”
“All true. But isn’t that what God does for us when he adopts us?”
Slowly, David gave a nod. “I can’t argue with that.”
“And you wanted our church to take Easter seriously.”
David rubbed his forehead. “Luke, we’re just a speck. The church of Stoney Ridge is just a tiny speck.”
“But consider the alternative. Imagine if we saved one baby . . . just one baby. Wouldn’t it be worth it?”
David was quiet for a long, long time, with his head tucked down. Luke figured he was praying, so he didn’t dare interrupt, didn’t move a muscle, didn’t cough or clear his throat. He wanted David to get a clear word from God on this.
When David lifted his head, he said, “How would you propose communicating this to the outside world?”
Luke expelled a deep breath. David was getting on board. Or he was close to climbing on board, anyway. “About that . . . I have no idea.” He scratched his head. “Izzy suggested taking an advertisement out in the New York newspapers, but I didn’t think you’d go for that.”
“No. No, that’s not an option.” David tapped his fingers on his desk. “We need to think it through carefully. Handle each obstacle one by one.”
“One by one. That’s it. That’s what we’re trying to do by giving those babies a home. One by one. We can’t fix the whole world, but we can do what we can. One by one.”
David looked at Luke for a long moment. “I don’t mean to discourage you, Luke. What you’re proposing—it’s what Christ would want his believers to do. I’m just not quite sure what it looks like for us. How it could happen.”
“I’ll work on that.”
“No. Don’t work on that. It’s got nothing to do with work, only with prayer. Pray on that, Luke. Storm heaven with prayer over it. I will too. The answer will come.”
Jimmy led Prince back into his stall for supper and smiled when he saw Joey slip into the barn to follow along as he did the evening chores. It was becoming a habit, this shadowing by the boy, and Jimmy loved it. They had a little game they played together. Jimmy called it “Did you know?”
Joey always started it off. “Did you know horse’s teeth never stop growing?”
“Like a beaver?”
“Yup. Did you know that horses have the biggest eyes of any animal?”
“Hmm,” Jimmy said. “They do seem bigger than a whale’s eyes, I’ll grant you that.”
When Joey had run out of the day’s newest horse facts, it was Jimmy’s turn. “Did you know that a horse’s whiskers are sensitive?”
Joey peered at him. “Are yours?”
Jimmy rubbed his chin, feeling the roughness of a five o’clock shadow. “Nope. But for a horse, those whiskers detect what eyes can’t see.”
Joey rubbed his chin too.
“Here’s another one for you. Did you know that a horse’s lips are loaded with nerve endings?”
The boy wiggled his lips, pondering that fact.
“Last one for the day. Did you know that a horse’s hooves are shock absorbers?”
Joey rocked back and forth on his heels. “So they can take the pounding?”
“Exactly that.” This boy, he was a smart one. “How old are you, Joey?”
“Four and a half.”
“Is that half year important?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
“I read. I been reading since I was three.”
“No way. There is no possible way you’ve been reading since you were three years old.”
Joey drew himself up like an injured rooster. “Ask Mem if you don’t believe me. She’s the one who taught me to read. She said a boy with a mind as good as mine needed books to fill it up.” He narrowed his eyes at Jimmy. “Can you read?”
“Sure I can. But I didn’t start reading when I was three, I’ll tell you that much.”
“So how old are you?”
“How old do you think?”
“Fifteen. Maybe fifteen and a half.”
“Fifteen? Why, I’m a grown man! What makes you think I’m fifteen?”
He cast Jimmy a disdainful glance. “You live in your mom’s basement.”
“Oh, well, that . . .”
“And you don’t have your own horse and courting buggy. If you were sixteen, then you’d have your own horse and buggy. Your dad would get it for you on your sixteenth birthday.”
“My dad died when I was around your age.”
“Whoa! No! No, he is most definitely not my father. My mother married him just a few years ago.”
“I don’t have a dad. I had Jake, but he died. And I have a grandpa, but he don’t like me. We had to move away from him when he kept calling me by the wrong name.”
“What name?”
“He called me Willie Jitmit.”
“Willie Jitmit? What kind of name is that?”
“I dunno. Mem said he called me that one time too many. She didn’t want me growing up with any name other than Joey.” He shrugged. “So that’s when we moved here.” He tipped his hat back. “You know who this Willie Jitmit is?”
“Never heard of the man.” Unless . . . unless it wasn’t a man, a person. Williejitmit. Williejitmit. A sigh breathed out of Jimmy.
Illegitimate.
The next morning, Sylvie was alone in the kitchen when dawn lit the sky. She listened for movement upstairs, signs that Joey was stirring. He’d always been a champion sleeper and sometimes needed a gentle poke or two to get up and get going. Coffee needed making, breakfast needed starting, but for the moment she was lost in the past, an avalanche of memories. She had grown used to the sounds of Joey, but how strange they were to her in those first few weeks. He had cried so much, as if he knew his world had turned upside down, and Sylvie cried right along with him. What was she going to do? She had nowhere to go but home to her father, and that turned out to be the worst place of all.
She went to the window to watch the apricot light bathe the farm before the sun crested the ridge. Behind the farm was darkness; in front of her, a soft light had begun to paint the sky. It seemed as if the whole world was holding its breath. Waiting. This was her favorite sight in all the world, bar none. The promise of a new day.
For the time being, Sylvie felt at peace. Blessed. The house and farm, all was tranquil. The worries of the day seemed years away.
Then the morning stillness was broken by Jimmy, waving cheerfully to her as he headed toward the new old barn to feed the horses. And this, too, was becoming a favorite sight to her. For the last few weeks she’d watched his comings and goings, half amused and half admiring.
She found she could hardly wait for the night to pass, just so that she could catch a glimpse of Jimmy as he crossed the creek and strolled past the house in the morning. It was the way he carried himself, not cocky but sure. She merely gave him a slight wave in return, biting her lip to hide a smile, averting her eyes.
As she watched him head down the path toward the barn, Sylvie regarded him, her hands on her hips. For all the chatter she’d heard about Jimmy Fisher—how he could charm the spots off a leopard, how he was a flirt, and how every woman in church was half in love with him, how his mother made decisions for him—Sylvie had no quarrel with how diligently he worked. He was always coming up with ways to improve Rising Star Farm—how to make a chore easier, or how to organize things in a better way.
Yesterday afternoon, he’d spent hours gathering wood from fallen branches after a windstorm that blew through. He split the wood, creating tidy stacks of hickory and oak kindling on the porch for her to use. It spoke to her heart in a way she couldn’t put into words. Wonder crept in. At long last, she had someone alongside her.
It was hard not to grow fond of that man—he was like a ray of sunshine breaking through the gray clouds. He had an easy way about him, always looking on the sunny side of things, always bringing that smile and those sparkling blue eyes along with him. Little wonder that Bethany Schrock had waited so long for him.
Waffles. She would make waffles for Jimmy today, as she knew he was partial to them. Last time she’d made them, she’d never seen a man look so delighted. As if a waffle was a wondrous thing. Making waffles would be a way to thank him for being kind to her. To Joey. How he had the patience for that boy’s endless questions as he trailed behind him for most of the day, she didn’t know.
She scooped a few tablespoons of coffee into the filter, then a few more because she knew Jimmy liked his coffee strong and black. Strange, the knowledge you collected about a person, without even being aware of it. No, that wasn’t entirely true. She was far too aware of Jimmy Fisher.
Be careful, Sylvie, she told herself. Guard your heart. This one, he’s not like Jake.
Jimmy watched as Sylvie whisked the batter for waffles and set the iron on top of the hot stove. She poured the batter into the greased iron with an expert hand, shut the iron, and thrust it into the oven by its long handles. She flipped the iron over, waited, then opened the iron and dumped the waffle on a waiting platter.
“Care for some coffee?”
“I would,” Jimmy said, eyeing the waffle iron. How he loved waffles.
She handed the plate to Joey, then overfilled the iron, spilling batter onto the floor. As she stooped to clean it up before the three-legged dog got to it, she forgot about the waffle in the iron. Jimmy smelled the burned smell in the air and jumped out of his seat to open the iron.
“Never you mind,” Jimmy said. “That’s just the way I like my waffle. Crispy edges.”
“Scorched,” Joey said.
“Even better,” Jimmy said, drizzling maple syrup over the top of his waffle, watching it run down into the small divots.
As soon as he set the pitcher of maple syrup down, Joey made a grab for it and spilled syrup all over his pants. Automatically Jimmy braced himself, ready for Sylvie to scold, the way his mother would scold if he or his brother spilled something. But Sylvie surprised him yet again. She quietly mopped up the syrup and told Joey to run upstairs to change his clothes. He watched the interaction, amazed. No scolding, no reprimanding, no cross words. Just accepting the mess as part of life with a child. What a woman.
“Sylvie, I’ve been wondering about this friend of yours, the one who had an Arabian horse.”
Still wiping up drops of syrup on the floor, she darted a glance at him. “What about him?”
“I wondered . . .” He studied her with measuring interest, noticing a flush of pink start up her cheeks. It made her look touchingly girlish. “It occurred to me that he might have some advice about Arabians. About how to get the word out about Prince. I thought I might try and talk to him sometime.”
She shook her head vigorously. “Absolutely not.” Avoiding his eyes, she sniffed the air curiously. “The waffle!” She bolted to the waffle iron and opened it. Smoke curled up above another charred, blackened waffle.
He watched as she grabbed a fork and removed the waffle, tossing it into the sink.
Moving to stand at her elbow, Jimmy said quietly, “Sylvie, is there some reason I shouldn’t talk to this fellow?”
Not meeting his eyes, she scooped more batter into the iron and closed it. The pink flush crept from down her cheeks onto her neck. “I . . .”
“Is he important to you?”
She hesitated. “Does it matter?”
Jimmy shifted and said awkwardly, “I was just trying to help, Sylvie. I didn’t mean to stir up anything.”
“You don’t need anybody’s advice. You know plenty about horses.” She formed a vague smile while still avoiding his eyes. “Now . . . how about a waffle that doesn’t taste like charcoal?”
And with that, she redirected her attention toward Joey as he came back into the kitchen.
Katy Ann was asleep in Luke’s arms as he took another sip of coffee at the end of another Sunday’s fellowship meal. These were his favorite moments within a month, and it only happened twice. The church set aside their daily pressures of life, their differences amongst themselves, and came together to worship, to renew their faith and commitment to both God and community. He started the Sabbath morning in a low state of mind, discouraged and worn out, like a flashlight with run-down batteries. He ended the day recharged, ready for the work that lay ahead.
As deacon, Luke was privy to the underbelly of his people’s lives. This last year had been particularly difficult, one in which he and David had dealt with issues he’d never dreamed were part of the Stoney Ridge church. Things Luke wished he didn’t have to know about, because once he knew, he had to confront. That was the deacon’s role. David often reminded him that God brought all things to light, all things—good and bad. The power of light had many purposes, David said. To expose, to cleanse, to renew, to promote growth, to inspire.
He swallowed the last of his coffee, ready to go find Izzy and Fern and get back to Windmill Farm, but before he set the mug on the table, Jimmy Fisher plunked down next to him.
“Out cold,” Jimmy said, peering over Luke to see Katy Ann’s sleeping face. “She sure is a cutie.”
“That she is,” Luke said in a low voice. “And it’s a good thing, because ever since she started walking, she’s running us ragged.” He’d only talked with Jimmy a few times since he’d returned to Stoney Ridge. He felt a little ill at ease around him, because he knew that Jimmy’s indecision—or was it inability?—to get married had caused hurt to his sister Bethany. She had deserved better than a waffling, long-distance boyfriend, who seemed more committed to horses than to her. She thought so too, because she finally gave up on Jimmy and married a good man, one who realized that love came with a commitment.
Still, Luke was Jimmy’s deacon, and though he was ready to go home, he could tell there was something on his mind. “So how’s it going for you, being home again?”
Jimmy hesitated just a few seconds too long. “Fine, just fine.”
Luke shifted on the bench, uncomfortable. The arm that held Katy Ann was going numb. “I remember when I came back after rehab, it felt pretty uncomfortable.”
Jimmy’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah? How so?”
“Everybody remembered the old Luke. Assumed I hadn’t changed. Or couldn’t change.”
He nodded, knowingly. “Does it get better?”
“I’ll be honest with you, it took a long time. People don’t adjust their thinking easily.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Jimmy said with an eyeroll. “Ever tried changing my mother’s mind on something? She’s like a dog with a bone.”
Luke had no doubt. Edith still viewed Luke as a juvenile delinquent. He was convinced that the reason Edith was unusually kind to Izzy was because she pitied her, married to a hapless man. “It’s not easy, coming back home again.”
“Yeah. Growing up, it can be hard on a man.”
Jimmy’s words touched a deep spot in Luke. He’d never thought of Jimmy as being particularly profound, but that phrase sounded like something David would say. Growing up was hard on a man, especially guys like Jimmy and Luke. Guys who took their own sweet time maturing into men. He breathed in his daughter’s sweet and familiar scent. “Worth it, though. Totally worth it.”
Had Luke imagined Jimmy’s sharp intake of breath? He felt kind of pleased with himself, like he’d provided just the right words of encouragement that Jimmy seemed to need this morning. Words to help him find his way forward, to lean into manhood. He glanced over Katy Ann’s small prayer cap and realized Jimmy’s gaze was riveted on Sylvie.