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Five o’clock came far too early the next morning, at least for Jemima King.
She dragged herself out of bed while it was still dark, dressed, and helped her mother cook breakfast; but she nodded over the stove as she cooked the eggs.
“Mind your hand, Jemima!” her mother cried sharply, and Jemima jerked her fingers back just in time to keep them from being burned on the hot metal. “Good heavens, child, you’re sleepy! Didn’t you get your rest?”
Jemima looked up at her apologetically. “No, I-I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” she confessed, blushing.
“Are you feeling all right?” her mother frowned, and put a hand to her cheek.
Jemima nodded, and the cloud lifted from her mother’s brow. “Well, you must go to bed earlier tonight,” she told her. “Now help me set out breakfast. We can’t be late for worship.”
It was a Sunday morning, and worship was being held at the home of Aaron Kauffman, Samuel’s father. It was on the far side of their church district, and it would therefore be necessary to get an early start.
Jemima set out a platter of sliced ham, and a bowl of biscuits, and fried potatoes. She was grateful when it came time to sit down, but she wondered how on earth she would ever stay awake through a two-hour sermon when she was starting out so tired.
Jacob King came walking in, stretching and yawning. “Good morning, my girls!” he told them, and leaned over to give their mother a peck on the cheek. “Ready for worship? It’s a fine, fair morning, and not too hot. Are we set to eat?”
Rachel nodded, and sat down quickly. They all said a silent prayer, and then ate. Everyone but Jemima seemed to be in a good mood. Even Deborah wore a neutral expression through the meal, and for her that was as good as a smile.
But Jemima was worrying about the letter and chewed her thumbnail instead of her food. She could hardly concentrate on eating, wondering what on earth she was supposed to do now that she owned a document worth a million dollars. Nothing like that had ever happened to anyone she knew, or to anyone she had ever even heard about. What was she supposed to do now?
It felt sinful and greedy to keep such a thing. Surely such an important letter should be in a museum somewhere, not hidden away in a bank vault in her name.
But it would also feel sinful and greedy to sell it. A million dollars! What would an Amish girl like her even do with all that money? She already had all she needed, and it wasn’t right to want more than that.
But, on the other hand, she had already tried to give it away, and to her total amazement that hadn’t worked.
“Jemima!”
Jemima came to herself with a start. When she looked up, everyone at the table was staring at her.
“I-I’m sorry, I was-I was daydreaming,” she stammered.
“About one of those silly pups, I suppose,” her father replied, shaking his head. “Never mind, Mima! Just come along. It’s time to get on the road.”
Jemima followed them as they left. She climbed up into the buggy, and settled into the back seat, and watched the passing countryside without seeing it.
Maybe she should ask her parents what to do. But she dreaded the scolding they were sure to give her about talking to the Englisch reporter in the first place.
Then, too, if she told them what had happened, it would be the end of her own choice in the matter: they would forbid her to talk to any Englischer, ever again, as long as she lived.
And she would never find out if the Englisch reporter had meant what he’d said – or not.
She nibbled off another corner of her nail.
When they arrived at the Kauffman’s home, she drifted alongside her family, nodding in response to greetings and keeping her eyes on the ground.
But soon Samuel appeared at her elbow, looking love at her out of those beautiful blue eyes.
“I missed you,” he smiled, and a tender look was on his face. “Is your family staying for lunch, Jemima?” he asked in a lower voice. “I was hoping you and I could talk somewhere privately afterwards.”
She looked up at him, and was about to answer, when her father noticed them. “Good morning, Samuel!” he said loudly. He clapped Samuel on the shoulder, pushed right in between them, and smiled broadly. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” Samuel replied, much less enthusiastically.
“And so much friendliness, everywhere I turn!” he added, shaking Samuel’s shoulder. Samuel looked up at him with a chagrined expression.
“Jemima, go and find your mother and sister a place to sit and hold it for them,” her father commanded, and she nodded submissively. She shot Samuel an apologetic look over her shoulder, and was grateful to see that his eyes were still fastened to hers.
But when she looked back again, just before entering the Kauffman’s barn, she saw with a sinking heart that her father was talking earnestly to Samuel, and that her handsome blond admirer looked as though he’d been rained on.
She found a nice empty spot at the end of a bench, and waited for her mother and sister.
And sighed.
Soon her mother and Deborah arrived and settled in beside her, and the benches began to fill up. Jemima noticed Samuel took a seat just across from them on the front row of the men’s benches. His eyes were on hers, and she smiled at him faintly. His eyes sparkled, and he winked at her – just once. It was over like lightning, and she doubted that anyone else even saw it. She lowered her head, to hide her laughter, but when she looked up again, she noticed that her father’s eyes were on her and she assumed a more pious expression.
The service started with the singing of hymns, and after they were over, the sermon. The minister opened his Bible and began talking.
Jemima felt herself beginning to zone out. She was sleepy, she was confused about the letter, and she was distracted by Samuel. Because now and then, when she looked up, he would catch her eye. And do something silly.
Like flick his tongue out over his lower lip, like a snake. And she would have to lower her head again and try not to laugh.
Or roll his eyes up toward the ceiling, as if he were about to pass out. That time, she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
But eventually her father noticed where she was looking and gave Samuel such a freezing look that he had to stop playing.
The preacher talked and talked, and to Jemima it seemed that the sermon would never end. But at some point, after she had gotten quiet and had settled down, the words that the preacher was saying started to reach her.
He was talking about being a good Christian, and how that meant being kind to the poor. Jemima sighed and crossed her legs and looked through a window at the beautiful summer afternoon outside. She had heard this many times before.
But suddenly he raised his Bible in the air, and said:
“What if a miracle happened? What if I suddenly had a million dollars and yet kept it all for myself? What kind of a Christian would let a neighbor stay hungry? Or cold, or sick, if he had the power to help him?”
Jemima gasped, and rolled stricken eyes to the man’s face. He was looking right at her.
“It’s the duty of a Christian to do as Jesus would do,” the man said earnestly. “And Jesus fed the hungry, and took care of the sick.”
Jemima’s eyes filled with quick tears.
“If we follow Jesus, we must do those things, too.”
Jemima felt herself going hot. She lowered her face, to hide the tears in her eyes.
The man’s words had pierced her heart like a sharp arrow. It was like God had spoken through him, straight to her.
She had prayed to God, asking Him what she should do with the letter. And she hadn’t heard any answer.
Until now.
Now it was crystal clear. This, this was her answer: she was to sell the letter, and give the money to people who needed it.
It answered everything. She would not be selfishly hiding the letter away; she would not be greedily spending the money on herself. The money could be used to feed her hungry neighbors, and help those who were sick and needed medical help.
And that would even explain why the Englischer had given the letter back to her against all reason: it had plainly been the will of God – a miracle.
She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and put her palms up, in a gesture of pure gratitude to God. She mouthed silent words of worship, and smiled to herself.
And when she opened them again, she noticed that Samuel Kauffman was staring at her face. The silly look was gone.
His eyes were dead serious now. And the look in them was that of a man who would run through fire.
