In the days that followed Mamm’s confession, we both had to deal with the fallout. When we arrived at home, she admitted to Daed that she’d picked me up after work and told me everything, and he hadn’t been happy with her. They had argued all evening, mostly in whispers behind closed doors, but I’m sure they both knew there was no taking it back now.
I wrote to Priscilla that night, though it took me a long time to figure out what to say.
Dear Priscilla,
The day you left, you told me something I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t believe you, so you told me to ask God to prove you wrong.
I asked. He finally answered.
You weren’t wrong.
Sincerely,
Jake
The next morning, I spoke to Daed on Mamm’s behalf, trying to help him understand I’d needed this truth so I could begin to heal. He disagreed, refusing to believe there was any healing to be done. As for Mamm, he said he wasn’t angry with her exactly, just disappointed that she’d gone to me behind his back and against his word. Mostly, he said, he was upset that she’d dredged up woes that had long been covered by God’s grace and ought not to have been exhumed.
Our times around the supper table—the only meal the three of us had together these days, thanks to my job—were subdued, to say the least. We found things to talk about, but they were superficial and brief, and then we would retreat back into our silences.
The truth was, I felt as though I had been stripped of my skin and was now walking around in the flesh of a newborn. Every pore of my being seemed freshly awakened. And even though the depths of my heart were now open to the sun, recalling what had mentally sent me scrambling for mortar and bricks eighteen years ago was not painful in the fearful sense. I felt an ache, crushing at times, but it wasn’t the throbbing sting of despair. It was more a tearing away of pretense and calluses.
I was not becoming a six-year-old boy again; that child had grown up. But I did sense that God was handing something back to me, something He had been keeping safe for me during my years in the wilderness of my detachment. He was reawakening my passion for things He was passionate about, namely people. I found myself beginning my prayers in the morning and quickly wiping away tears as I prayed for each person close to me. God was regenerating within me a deep and pervasive compassion for those He had placed in my life. My parents. My siblings. Tyler and Rachel. Amanda and Matthew. Natasha and her family. Owen and Treva. Amos and Roseanna.
Priscilla.
Dear Jake,
You may not believe this, but I think I already knew. Somehow, during my prayer times this week, I’ve almost felt I was hearing the shouts and trumpets as Jericho’s walls came tumbling down. When your letter arrived today, I could only bow my head in awe and thanks. God is good.
I am praying for you, because I know this has to be tough. To feel deeply after so many years of barely feeling at all must be kind of like leaping from a puddle into an ocean. I can’t imagine the pain, the fear—maybe even the regret—that you’re going through now.
But don’t regret it. And remember the good that’s in store for you! Consider John 16:20, where it says, “Ye shall be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into joy.” You are now a person who can feel both of those things, sorrow and joy, and for that I rejoice.
I promise, this will get better.
Blessings,
Priscilla
Reconnecting with that part of me that God had created as a basic element of my personality and which I had pushed aside for nearly two decades made me quiet, reflective, and more tuned into the workings of God’s Spirit inside me.
Sometimes, it also hurt like the dickens.
Dear Priscilla,
Every day at my job, when I exercise the horses, I put them through a series of moves and activities that will not just improve their cardio systems but also promote muscle growth. At farrier school, we spent a lot of time studying horse anatomy, and it’s been coming in handy during these sessions. Do you know how muscles are built in horses—and people too, for that matter—anatomically speaking?
You never want to pull or rip a muscle, but you do want to work it hard enough that it develops numerous microscopic tears. (That’s where the soreness comes after a hard day.) But then, as those tears heal, the body does the most amazing thing: It builds them back stronger than they were before. Thus, the way to grow a muscle is to tear it up so that in the end it will grow back stronger.
This is what I remind myself every single day, that the tearing up is the first, necessary part of the process. But it isn’t always easy.
Sincerely,
Jake
Though I still wasn’t crazy about my job, I was glad for the ten-hour workdays I had to myself during this time. Almost every day, I would spend the entire commute thinking, praying, and pondering what it meant to no longer be locked up inside. Once I arrived at the Fremonts’, there was little there to remind me of my Amish life except for every horse I was growing fond of and every horse that looked to my approach with interest and affection. It wasn’t hard to see, now that my eyes had been opened, what Priscilla saw. Horses were not like any other farm animal. They were created with the ability to display trust and affection, as well as the capacity to fear and avoid what they did not understand. Priscilla had told me once that I only cared about what troubled horses feared, but not why they feared it.
And she had been right. The why of it I had wanted to avoid, because that is what I did—and had been doing every day of my life for many years.
Tyler had said I was even-keeled, and he’d meant it as a compliment. Priscilla had also used that word when she said I was “just one long, even keel, sailing through life down the middle.” But I now knew better. A keel on a boat keeps it on a steady course. Without a keel, a boat would soon be adrift. But the direction you choose to travel matters as much as the keel that helps to get you there. As I settled into my new skin and allowed God to have His way in me, I began to sense that the direction of my life was changing.
Dear Jake,
Since I last wrote, I’ve been thinking more on this topic of sorrow and joy, and I decided I have a suggestion for you: Look for joy.
Even if you are still struggling with the more painful elements of this transition, I challenge you to seek out joy in others. Perhaps doing so will help to awaken joy inside yourself as well.
Blessings,
Priscilla
The second week in September, I was beginning to feel less pain in the day to day, though I certainly hadn’t felt anything remotely approaching joy. At first, I took Priscilla’s words in a theoretical sense, simply as an encouragement. But upon several rereadings of her letter, I decided she was serious. She really was challenging me.
And so I began to look for joy.
Amazingly, it didn’t take long before I began to spot it everywhere…
I saw it in the bus driver who handled the second leg of my daily journey, in the way he smiled and greeted the passengers—especially the regulars like me—as if we were precious cargo. I knew he was a Christian because God’s love radiated through every part of him, from the sparkle in his eyes to the peppy hymns he would whistle as he drove to the way he’d call out with every disembarkation, “Have a blessed day!”
I witnessed joy walking home from the bus stop one evening when I came upon a pair of tourists, a young couple out for a stroll. They were holding hands, and an infant was strapped to the father’s chest by some sort of cloth sling. Partway down the street, they paused so the wife could adjust the baby’s pacifier. Then she kissed him on his fuzzy little head and looked up at her husband, the joy in her eyes striking me so deeply that I had to turn away.
I observed it during Sunday dinners, in how my mamm and daed looked at Rachel, whose own precious cargo was growing bigger by the week, and Tyler, who was constantly at her side. Even though there was still a bit of a rift between my parents, I could see the joy in their faces whenever they gazed upon their beloved grandson and granddaughter-in-law and the new life—a great-grandbaby—that was growing within.
I felt it in the serene expressions of many of my fellow worshipers during Sunday services.
I recognized it in the eyes of my brother Thom when he bit into a slice of his wife’s incredible schnitz pie.
I heard it in the squeals and laughter of Natasha’s two little girls as they played in their backyard pool.
Mostly, I found it one day when I least expected, out in the pasture with January and Atticus. Like all of the horses, January needed exercise, but she wasn’t too crazy about wearing a saddle or carrying a rider. Eventually, I found that I could give her just as good of a workout simply by taking her and the dog into the field and playing a vigorous game of fetch. Atticus’s favorite chew toy was a bright orange rope-and-ball sort of thing, and I would start us off by throwing it as far as I could out into the grass. He would take off running, with January close behind, then he’d retrieve it, spin around, and run just as fast to bring it back to me. We would do this over and over until both dog and horse were panting heavily and my shoulder was beginning to ache. At that point, I would usually just plop myself down on the grass for a break, allowing ten minutes or so for them to cool down.
Usually, they just sniffed around a bit after that, Atticus searching the pasture for rabbit holes and January contentedly munching on grass. But once in a while, if they were in a playful mood, they would interact with each other in various ways. Atticus would get January’s attention by running circles around her, or January would trot toward the dog and then fake him out by stopping short or making a sudden zigzag. Sometimes the horse would simply lie down on the ground and roll over, feet in the air and belly to the sky. Grunting with pleasure, she would wriggle in a way that told me she was scratching her back. As she did, Atticus would run over to lick her face or sniff her body or press himself against her broad side, as if to share in her joy.
And it was joy. Whether in animals or people, I decided, joy was all over the place. You just had to stop and look for it.
Joy was also the key that finally unlocked the problem with Natasha’s horse.
It happened on a Monday in mid-September, on a gray and overcast day with just a hint of coolness in the air. I had already reduced my daily sessions with Duchess down to just twice a week, but now I was ready to throw in the towel. Despite all of my efforts, I was no closer to solving the mystery of her performance anxiety than I had been the day we met.
As I led the magnificent animal from the workout ring back up the hill toward her private stable, I felt my heart growing heavy, knowing I had let both horse and owner down. The Dressage at the Devon horse show was only ten days away, and it was clear to all that Natasha’s dream of a successful meet was only that—a dream. Worse, the horse’s inevitable failure at the show was going to be like a domino, toppling forward and taking down all the others after it. As Eric had said a few months before, If Duchess fails, her value as a show horse or even a breeding horse will plummet so far that Natasha may lose it all. I felt sick at heart, both for her sake and the sake of this magnificent, troubled animal.
Unlike the horses in the big stable, Duchess was housed in her own private building, one equipped with indulgences that boggled the mind. Air-conditioning for hot days, of course, but also heated floors for cooler ones. A horse treadmill. An equine whirlpool. All sorts of state-of-the-art equipment. Apparently, these were luxuries befitting a champion. Sadly, once Duchess failed at Devon, she would be a champion no more.
The only people allowed in Duchess’s stable were Natasha, the stable master, and me, and as I opened the door to lead the horse inside now, I saw that the other two were already there, over in the main sitting area. They both looked up as we came in, their expressions hopeful, but I shook my head and continued on toward the stall.
Once Duchess was settled in with fresh water and hay, I came back out ready to tell Natasha that this was about it for me and Duchess. There was nothing more I could do for her, and continuing our sessions would just be a waste of Natasha’s money and my time.
Natasha and Ted were both perched on leather swivel chairs, facing a huge flat screen TV and watching, yet again, the video of Duchess’s last few competitions, where she’d lost control and reared up, nearly getting hurt or hurting others. I had watched these films myself, several times, to study her behavior and see if I could figure out what might have scared her so and set her off. But it hadn’t done me any good, so I’d never felt the need to watch again.
Ted, on the other hand, studied those clips the way a farrier might study diseases of the hoof. All along, he had been of the opinion that there was some specific trigger that kept setting the horse off, and if he could just identify and eliminate that trigger, the problem would be solved.
Natasha wasn’t interested in triggers. She was all about obedience training, teaching the animal to resist any aberrant urges—no matter how strong—at the command of her master.
My approach had been to spend time with the horse on a regular basis and run her through various pressure-release exercises in order to build trust.
None of our methods had worked. If anything, the horse seemed to be getting worse, not better. Several times, on busy days when the main stable was bustling with activity, Duchess had caught sight of it and gone into a bit of a frenzy, neighing and shaking her head and stomping her feet until I had to lead her away just to get her back under control.
“Play it again, from the top,” Natasha said now, her eyes still glued to the screen.
Ted clicked the remote, and the video started over once more. I watched it as well, but this time something about the clip seemed different to me—or rather, the clip was the same, but I was seeing it in a whole new way. After a few moments, I could feel the hairs begin to rise up on the back of my neck.
“Again,” I said when it was over, the urgency and excitement in my voice startling the other two. “Please,” I said, gesturing toward the screen. Then I moved even closer so I could see better. “I may have just figured this out.”
It took a few more viewings to confirm my suspicions, but by then I was almost certain. I turned to face Natasha and Ted and told them I knew what was wrong.
“All along, we’ve been focusing on Duchess’s fear. But it’s not fear that’s causing her to rear up and go into a frenzy. It’s excitement. It’s joy.”
They were skeptical, so I told them about January and Atticus out in the pasture, about what I’d observed in the exuberant horse’s body language. Then I had them run the film of Duchess again as I pointed out the similarities in some of the more subtle elements of her behavior.
The tossing of her head wasn’t flight response, I explained, it was glee.
The raising up into the air wasn’t defensiveness, I said, it was celebration.
It wasn’t the noise or the chaos of the crowd that bothered Duchess at these shows. It was her uncontrollable delight at being surrounded by people and activity and noise and smells and companionship. That all caused her to become so excited that she simply lost control.
Natasha seemed to grow more convinced as she listened to my reasoning. Then, in a flash, she understood the bigger picture. Excitement growing in her eyes, she told us that time-wise it all made sense. According to her, Duchess’s uncontrollable behavior had begun not long after earning the title of Prix St. George. Not coincidently, that was about the same time that they had built this magnificent private stable and segregated the horse from the other animals and workers.
“Then that’s it,” I said, grinning in victory. “She’s lonely and isolated. If you want to keep her from losing control at the shows, I think all you need to do is put her back where she belongs, with the others. She needs her community, just like all horses. Just like all people.”
As it turned out, my theory was correct. We had to take it slow, but over the course of the next week we were able to successfully integrate Duchess back into the larger stable. She was still off limits to the other employees, but at least now she was surrounded by animals and people most of the time, the perfect antidote to the ailments of loneliness and seclusion.
Once we’d managed to define her prevailing emotion as excitement rather than fear, none of us could believe we hadn’t figured it out before. Not every horse loved a crowd, but this one always had, according to Natasha. Only now did the woman realize that pulling Duchess away and setting her apart had nearly destroyed her soul, and she felt terrible about it. Trying to make Natasha feel better, Ted explained that show horses often suffered such a fate, their value as a commodity outweighing their need for socialization.
The question now was whether or not the solution had come in time to prepare Duchess for competition. Would we be able to satisfy her social needs sufficiently enough that she wouldn’t get so worked up at the competition?
In the days leading up to it, I kept thinking about this, mostly with regard to Priscilla. Once again, she had been pivotal in helping me solve an issue with a horse. But there was also a reverse element here. Like Duchess, Priscilla was often isolated and alone. And though she drew no joy from crowds, the truth was she needed them just as much as the horse had needed to be with others. Priscilla needed more people in her life. She needed community. I wrote a long letter explaining all that had happened and urging her to seek others in the same way that she had challenged me to seek joy. I didn’t hear back right off, the way I usually did, but I was consumed with the horse show, which took place on September twenty-fifth, a day that was sunny and unseasonably warm.
I was invited along as part of the team, and the event as a whole was quite fun and fascinating. But the longer it went on, the more I kept thinking, This world is not my home.
What was I doing here?
Duchess was spectacular, earning up not one level but two. That meant she was now just one step away from the top—and the only thing standing in her way was another year or so of training to go all the way. Natasha was so thrilled that as we loaded up the truck to head back, she told me I was in for a “big bonus.” Eric was there too, and he teased her, saying, “Better not make it too big, or Jake just might take a walk.”
“Take a walk?” Natasha asked, turning to me. “Why? Are you unhappy with your job?”
I felt a little uncomfortable having this conversation in the middle of the loading area with dozens of people around, but I knew I had to be honest with her.
Bonus or not, big paychecks or not, my time in this world was done.
Natasha asked for a week’s notice, which made my last day October first. On October second, a Thursday, I spent the morning at the kitchen table, going over the lists I’d made with my daed back in August, when he and I were exploring the possibility of opening up my own blacksmith shop. Between the pay I’d earned and the five-thousand-dollar bonus Natasha insisted on giving me for my success with Duchess, I had now accrued almost half of my goal for seed money. I had no idea what God had in mind for providing the rest, but before I took things any further, there was an important conversation I needed to have.
I still hadn’t spoken to Amos about the noncompetition issue. When first becoming his apprentice, I had promised him I would never open up a shop within ten miles of his, but if I were to take advantage of the space my father was offering me, then it would be more like eight miles. As a man of my word, I wasn’t about to move forward without first getting that two-mile difference approved by my former boss.
On my way out, I checked the mailbox, but nothing was yet there from Priscilla. I hadn’t heard from her even once since sending my challenge for her to seek others, and that concerned me. She and I had gotten into a regular rhythm of writing, and the only reason I could imagine for her breaking that rhythm had to do with her reaction to my challenge. Was she upset with me? Hiding from me? Turning to another man, one who was close by and wanted her as his wife and wouldn’t challenge her as I had?
These were the thoughts that rolled around my head as I covered the distance to the Kinsingers. I hadn’t been back there once since being laid off, but when I pulled into their driveway, it felt as though it were just yesterday.
I came to a stop out front, spotting Roseanna in the yard putting clothes on the line. She left the basket of laundry and walked quickly toward me, wearing a huge smile. Amos came out of the blacksmith shop, a surprised look on his face, but he greeted me warmly as well.
Rosanna announced it was a great time for a coffee break and insisted that Amos and I come inside. They wanted to hear what I’d been up to and how things were going, so over coffee and a cinnamon roll, I told them all about my job with Natasha. I also explained how God had been doing some great things for me and in me, and that I wanted them to know they had been an important part of it all. It took a little convincing, but they needed to understand that I was even grateful for having been let go, because God had been using that experience to begin a much-needed transformation in my life. I added that Priscilla had been a huge help to me too, and that she and I had been corresponding regularly.
From there, I was about to launch into the main reason I’d come here today when Roseanna said, “Oh, well, if you and Priscilla have been writing, then you must know about this weekend.”
“This weekend?”
“Being published and all that?”
I nearly choked on my coffee. For an Amish couple, “being published” meant having their engagement announced in church. It was usually done about a month prior to the wedding. And because weddings were held starting in late October, this was prime time for such announcements to begin.
“She… is she… with Noah? The widower?”
Roseanna and Amos shared a glance. Then Roseanna stood and went to the desk and retrieved her latest letter from their niece. Back at the table, she pulled it from the envelope, skimmed through it, and then thrust it toward me, with her finger pointing at a specific paragraph. Taking the letter from her, I began to read.
You asked about the situation with my special friend, but this is all I can tell you for now. I promised to give him a yes or no by the first weekend in October so that, if it is to be, he can speak to the bishop and get the ball rolling for a November wedding. I will let you know how things turn out after then.
Silently, I handed the paper back to Roseanna. Without a word, she stood and returned the envelope to her desk, where she rooted through a pile and came up with something else. As she brought it over, I expected to see another letter.
“This is from July, when Priscilla was leaving, so it might be a little out of date. But at least it’s a start.” She gave me a broad smile as she handed me the piece of paper.
I looked down to the page in my hand and saw that it wasn’t a letter at all.
It was the train schedule from Lancaster to Elkhart.