CHAPTER TEN

 

 

Ray directed the black and white cows out of the milk barn and thought about his relationship with Paul Yoder.  How had he taken the show of affection between him and his mischievous dochder?  Did he think that they’d spent many a night holding each other, talking under the stars?  If you add a Smores-eating eight year-old, then that had done that…once. 

He decided to come clean, “Paul, I am not courting Martha.  I do like her, but there’s something that you should know that even she doesn’t know: I am Alice’s daed.”

Paul leaned up from the machine that he was fixing and nearly bumped his head. Leave it to Martha to be the dochder full of surprises. “How did you find out?” He took the shop rag out of his back pocket and wiped the sweat off his forehead.  “Does Jeremiah know?”

“Jeremiah kind of knows.  I sent my twin bruder to pose as me; except for he really posed as me.”

Paul drew a grin, “You’re telling me that Jeremiah thinks that your twin bruder is the daed?”

“Jah, he does.  I just couldn’t handle for him to know that it was me because I had smacked him silly when he was complaining about her liking him.  I wanted her. Grandma had sent Grace a card, and Martha had grabbed it, thinking it was # 1. My note was #10. Grace has promised not to tell.”

“Does Martha know this?” Paul asked, running his right hand through his beard.  It would be good if she didn’t because he wanted to spend time with the dochder that he’d never thought was his own, and Ray would hog her attention.  He was starting to sound like Martha and her sibling envy.

“No, she doesn’t know at all. I think that it was part of grandma’s plan; she knew that I’d never give that apple orchard up, so if she willed her the farmhouse, she knew I’d have to see her every day and work with her.  It was a pretty cleaver plan.” 

Paul laughed and shook his head, “Your grandma sure could spring surprises on us.  I wonder what the bishop is going to think about receiving one of the notes.  He can’t shun her; she’s already left this world.”

He had to agree.  “I’m sure he’d want to shun her, for if the secret about me being Alice’s daed was the sweetest one, it makes me wonder what the other notes are about, the hidden secrets.”

“I think that it all boils down to the monthly quilters that quilted at my place, for they played Gott, being the judge for many of the young people’s offenses, you and Martha’s included.”

Ray didn’t agree.  “I don’t know about that. I feel uneasy about those notes.  Why would she judge them when she was one of them? Maybe it will all be rested when Martha gets back here this evening.”

Paul’s face relaxed in a friendly note. “She had no idea that Martha would give you the orchard and end up as the tenant.”

He giggled and agreed, “Jah, she never anticipated that is for sure.” 

Paul got more personal.  “My dochder’s always been like that, making different choices than most women.” He grinned and added, “I guess that’s why she left for Rumspringa.”

Paul’s words caused uneasiness in Ray’s chest as he etched closer to the night in the loft.  That was one topic that, even after they got hitched, he’d never be comfortable in talking about to his in-laws.  He tried to hide his lack of confidence. “You better be glad that she grabbed me instead of Jeremiah.  I don’t picture him being ready to settle down to father a child.”  He purposely ignored his eyes, wanting the conversation to end.

“Jah, I guess that was a wunderbar decision.  He slid a grin and said, “It depends on how good you are at keeping up with my dochder’s indecisiveness.”

“Jah, I promise to try. Ray smiled.  He hoped that he’d bond with his future father-in-law, and he hoped that he could be a good father to Alice.  His recklessness from the past made him doubt himself.  Would he stay on track and give both women what they needed?

Paul said now, Jah.  Let’s get back to work.  I’m way behind since you got here late.” Paul went back to the machine that he was fixing. He thought that Ray would make a good son-in-law, and he’d help keep Martha on the correct path.

******

Martha watched the team of horses trot down the two-lane road, their coats of sheer chestnut-brown and dark brown, glistening under the afternoon sun.  A scent of honeysuckle, followed by fresh wild mint, was all around as she drove to deliver note #3 to Linda Troyer, who was one of the regular quilters at her mamm’s haus, and one of the sponsors of the last canning bee.

She let up her tight grip on the reins and relaxed a bit against the buggy seat.  Although she’d been gone for almost nine years, she still knew how to drive a team of horses.  The horses seemed to notice that, turning right at her instruction, and then making their way up the steep gravel driveway of Linda Troyer’s one-hundred acre farm.

A loud voice startled her, “I don’t want one of the notes! You need to leave before I get my husband! I’m not having an Englischer pick at me!”  Linda came running off the front porch in a mad haste, her grey hair tight and parted down the middle, with no strays coming out from beneath her white prayer kapp. She had a broom in her hand, and she was coming at her, the bottom of her navy cape dress hurling around beneath her black apron.

“Fine.  The lady lied on my daed, telling him that my mamm had cheated on him---”

Linda cut her words off, “While he was in a coma at the hospital in the city?” She stood there with the broom pointed out in front of her, her eyes glossed over, and her smile an unfriendly one. 

“Jah, but it was a lie. I will tear your card up.” Martha announced as she reached in the basket to grab it.  Linda came running over, and snickering, she said, “Hurry, tear it up.”  She shook her head so hard that it looked like it would break and tumble down the orange and golden mum-lined driveway.

Martha torn it in three pieces, then tore those pieces, but something hard in the note flew out and onto her lap.  It was confetti and a theme-park character pen. “You want these, too, or am I to dispose of them?”

Linda’s angry skin evaporated to a cold shock. She closed her eyes and gripped her stomach.  Martha felt sorry for her. How could a theme park ink pen and confetti traumatize her so much?  It didn’t make sense.

“Throw them away.  I don’t want them. Thank you for coming.” She wasn’t thankful for the delivery, but she was thankful that it was all over with, and the note had been delivered.  Her hasty decision, at the monthly quilting bee, has cast a vote for Hope Miller the wrong way, making her leave her faith and become a cast member at a theme park in sunny Florida.  The charges were later found to be false because all juveniles had been drunk when the event happened, so there was no way of proving Hope guilty of throwing beer bottles in the bishop’s yard. 

How was Hope doing in Florida?  Was she still alive?  Of course, her mamm and daed never mentioned her. Maybe she should check on her again. Her annual holiday to Pinecraft, Florida was coming up, but she wouldn’t risk getting caught visiting her for the tenth year in a row.  Surely someone will talk and mention the pen and confetti, making the bishop keep an eye on her.  How would she get a refund for the two-hundred dollars that she’d already paid for her Florida driver to sneak her to the theme park?  Maybe she should quickly dispose of the theme park ink pens that she had hidden in the back of the walk-in closet. It was supposed to be a lie, but it wasn’t a lie for me.

“Linda, Martha yelled, “Here’s part of the note that fell in the floor of the buggy!” Martha held it up, her prayer kapp strings swaying in the air, just above a hint of sweet fall flowers.

“Did you read it?” Linda snapped around and threw her hands on her hips.

“It was facing up.  It only has one word anyway!”  Martha explained, and Linda sighed with relief.

“What does it say?” Linda asked as she stretched her arm around her back to tie her apron strings.  She created a good-sized loop to make a good-sized bow and then secured the knot with a firm pull.

“Francisco. That is all it says.  How bad can that be?” She didn’t tell her that it was written in sparkly gold ink with a sticker of an angel above it.

Linda grabbed it, screamed, and ran up her lawn, jumped up her front concrete steps, two at a time, and into the front door.   Francisco was the Costa Rican forty-year old that had stood before the quilting bee women.  His only crime was of him confronting them about them handing down judgments at the monthly quilting bees. That was twenty years ago. He was now a limo driver from the Hampton Inn off Universal, where she always stayed while visiting Hope and the swimming pool.  Had he snapped photos of her while she was in her two-piece by the pool?  Please, Gott, don’t let the bishop find out. She wished that she’d read the whole note. She was one of the six monthly quilters that passed judgments down; she wasn’t supposed to be the judged. The tables had turned, and one of their own, Mrs. Dailey had still gotten to play judge without being judged.  She looked up toward heaven with tears running down her farm-tanned face, white prayer kapp strings saturated in heartache as water poured down the front of her chin.  Gott, please be the only judge from now on.

 

******

Martha clicked loudly at the team and hurried them; she wanted to get the next six notes over with, get the basket emptied out.  She stopped the horses at the four-way stop and watched three busloads of tourists drive by, cameras rolling, lights flashing.  We have our own problems.  She found it sad that these eager tourists had rolled in for tranquility, peace, and a place of love, but today brought shock and sadness to some Old Order Amish communities. It was sad that, just like the outsiders, they had their own heartaches, own misgivings, and own secrets.  The basket proved it.

The basket proved a lot of things; for one, the bishop would get a headache when he’d hear about the judgments that had been passed down, and maybe, if he was in a bad mood, he’d give his own judgments, making people pay for their sins again.  Would he judge her and Ray’s Rumspringa crime again? 

Being forced to leave her flock while with child had been enough punishment.  She didn’t want to pay twice. Surely the others that had been judged didn’t want to pay twice. Hopefully, he would understand and ignore the information that Mrs. Dailey had left for him. But what if he didn’t?

She directed the horses to turn down the lane to Marsha Yoder’s haus.  Marsha had note #4, and since Marsha was the most-God-fearing church member, the note could have no secrets.  Mrs. Dailey probably included her so that the other five quilters wouldn’t feel that she’d made a difference.

As she got to the driveway, and the team of horses trotted up the incline to the white-framed farmhouse, she saw Marsha on the front porch, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes glossy.  She didn’t move, and she said nothing, but there was a still life in her green eyes.  The crisp autumn wind brushed her prayer kapp strings before her neck, but she did not move.  A hint of floral relaxed the air, blending in an occasional glimmer from the sun’s peeking sparkles.

“Marsha, are you okay.  Linda just went off on me; Mrs. Dailey made her feel guilty about Francisco.”  Martha relaxed and was eager to have some non-dramatic chit-chat.  It felt good to be at someone’s haus that would never do anything wrong, much less harbor a secret.  She got out of the buggy, her black bonnet strings lightly rising with the nippy autumn snap of air.  The smells of apple cider made her slide her eyes half-closed and breathe in the sweet aroma.  “You’re making cider today.  How much are you selling it for, and do you have half-gallons? Her tongue became restless for the seasonal spiced treat.

“You may have one.  Marsha motioned for her to sit down in the chair next to her, her eyes seeming restless, in dread of her arrival. 

She does have a secret.  Martha didn’t want to sit down; she didn’t want any cider as her stomach tilted three hundred and sixty degrees.  She was not wanted.  “I can get it later.  I have to go.  Here’s the note.  It involves the quilting bee; at least that is what I am told.”

Marsha’s eyes looked sickening, almost like a competitor competing for the same guy. She clearly did not want Martha there. How could the most religious woman in Walnut Creek have a secret?

Finally, she spoke words, “The one that gets pregnant is the judge, Jah?”

Martha sensed that she would smack her if she stayed much longer. She gritted her teeth and held back her words.  Nicely, she tilted her head and said, “I’ve already paid by being chased away.”

Marsha snapped, “No you haven’t, Martha.  Our bishop hasn’t seen you; you haven’t stood before him.  Go see him, and he will hand down the ultimate punishment.  You’re not getting back into our community.”

“Jah, I am getting back in. I am courting Ray, and he is a member.” Martha’s face tightened. She wouldn’t let such mean words be said against her. 

“I didn’t know about Ray.” Marsha’s mood mellowed, her eyes relaxed, and she became friendly again. Marsha had liked Jeremiah, too, so she had made up a lie about Martha being a “loose” girl, and Jeremiah had believed it, thus rejecting Martha and dating her.  That was the only big sin that she knew about, and now that Martha was courting Ray, it didn’t matter anymore.

“Everything will be okay.  I assure you.  Here’s your note.” Martha heard paper ripping as she turned and hurried her legs off the porch and down the concrete steps.  She heard Marsha make a sound that she’d never heard and leap to the front door, slamming it behind her.  She did have a secret.

Making her way to the buggy, she got in and directed the horses down the step drive and onto the two-lane country road.  Emma Miller and Miriam Bender, cousins who lived together were the next recipients of the notes, and they were gossip buddies.  She was in for a long evening.  Maybe she’d skip the bishop’s haus, saving it for tomorrow.  That left Jeremiah since her daed had had note #7.  She made a mental note that Ray already had note #10, although he never said what it had contained.  The note delivery was almost completed.  If joining the church was as simple, she would be a member right now.

******

Naomi Yoder was beside herself right now, and if she could, she would pinch herself to make sure that she was still alive.  Her long lost dochder was not only asking to join the church, but she was courting the handsome, long black eye-lashed Ray Miller, and he was extremely close to the familye.

“Grandma, I want another giant sugar cookie, please?”  Alice looked up with a pitiful stare as she tugged on Naomi’s black apron. Naomi looked down at her and studied her high chin and soft oval face, exactly like her mother’s face.  Alice’s big beautiful baby blues twinkled, and she donned long, silky black eyelashes like her daed.  Gott, you didn’t do good, you did excellent! A blush of vanity emerged her face as she turned, crossed the kitchen floor, and grabbed the oblong carving plate, which was heaping with vanilla buttercream-iced soft sugar cookies, the kind that melted on your tongue and created a lifelong memory upon contact. “You may have as many as you want, darling.” Alice grabbed one and reached up and planted a wet kiss on her grandma’s right cheek.  Alice is home. I am a grandma again.

Naomi grabbed the pitcher of milk from the gas-powered ice box and poured a second glass of milk for Alice.  The smell of the pumpkin Whoopie pies escaped from the wood-burning oven and created a blast of spice through the open kitchen window.  It was days like this that made Naomi glad that she was Old Order Amish.  They had no modern conveniences, not even air conditioning, but the good Lord always created the most tranquil puffs of air through that kitchen window. 

Martha had wanted to go get her dochder from Harrodsburg after the boppli was born, but she needed four of the six votes from the quilters, and she’d gotten only three.  Emma Miller had promised to vote her way, but when the time came to cast their votes, Emma had swayed to Marsha Yoder’s side, and that had broken her heart.  When Marsha’s wheat crop had been wiped out by hail, Naomi had pitched in, walking the field, to savage what was left.  She was the only woman that had walked that wheat field from the group; for Marsha hadn’t believed that it could be saved.  That wheat kept them going and saved their haus. Having Marsha and Emma go against her had broken her heart and her trust in them as church sisters.

“You’re not in dire straits, Naomi get over it; she and your granddaughter are gone for good,” Marsha had said, right before she’d started courting Jeremiah, who had been Martha’s love interest. Naomi had thought that Marsha had had hidden motives for agreeing to have Martha leave with child, but she couldn’t prove it.

Another refreshing wave of crisp autumn air, with a hint of the approaching winter, flew through the kitchen window and hit her face.  She closed her eyes as she sat the milk pitcher down next to the battery-operated oil lamp and inhaled, letting the coolness fan her lungs.  Slits of pleasure enveloped her eyelids before she slowly opened them, looking out the open window, her eyes met white marshmallow clouds sifting across the baby blue horizon. 

The sun wiggled through the bubbly white clouds, peeking through long enough to shine warm rays of hope over the sprawling green farm.  She shielded her eyes, the heat mellowing her mood. A batch of edgy, crisp air was right behind, pushing the sun back into the sky. 

Alice sat at the kitchen table and snacked on cookies and milk while Naomi stood at the window and thought about winter.  She had eight-hundred quarts of meats, vegetables, and fruit put up, and she had potatoes buried under orchard grass and sheet tin along the hill that surrounded the root cellar.  The smoke haus had several hams, even enough to last past the next butchering season.  Gott had blessed her, and she could now say: For me and my haus, we will serve the Lord.

The back door opened, and Ray and Paul walked in.  Both men grabbed a cookie, nodded thanks and crisscrossed to the kitchen table to take a seat.  As soon as they sat down, Alice made an announcement, “Daddy Ray and Papaw Paul, I have a very important announcement to make.”  Her long, black eye lashes blinked before she laced her little fingers and put them down on the table in front of her.  Wind from the open window fanned her red French braid, floating tiny strands of baby-red hair in front of her ears.  She said now, “I am moving in with grandma.”

Both men grinned, and Paul’s heart melted.  He studied his new familye member and thought that she had to be special-ordered from Gott, but how could erratic Rumspringa behavior be part of Gott’s plans?  He changed course and decided that Gott had turned lemons into sparkling lemonade.

Naomi agreed.  “You are welcomed to stay here, Alice.” She wiped her hands on her black apron, grabbed the milk pitcher, and filled each man’s glass, then topped Alice’s glass off.  “Your mother will be busy studying for instruction class and helping Ray with the orchard.”

“Fine, but papaw has to approve it, and my new daddy, too.”

Naomi’s face flexed, her mouth tightened, and she stood, pitcher in hand, glaring at Alice.  Who had told her that Ray was her father?  Had Martha told her?

“Approved!” Paul said with a soft smile, and Ray agreed with a nod.

Martha was pleased with the outcome. “I’m in now.  I am a Yoder again, just like when I was five.  I’ve had so many daddies, like my friends at the playground, all with different last names.  I want to stay a Yoder.” She smiled and then took a bite of her sugar cookie and thought it was delicious.  Becoming a Yoder again and having a grandma that would allow as many cookies as a kid could possibly was a child’s dream. The Yoder haus was now a haus ran by the kid.  Life was good.