◆ 33 ◆ 
Treva

“Wait,” I said as I put the last of the dishes away. I turned toward Rosene. “George is dead, and Martha is missing. How can that be?”

Rosene had a sad expression on her face. “Jah, those were hard times. I mourned George’s death and wondered if Martha even knew. Perhaps she’d been captured and was in East Berlin. Perhaps in Esther’s uncle’s apartment, in the window seat, which would have been difficult for her to fit in.”

“This is horrible.” I placed my hand against the ache in my heart. Rosene had already lost Zeke. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you more soon.” Rosene yawned. “I need to get to bed.”

I watched in disbelief as she shuffled out of the kitchen. How could she leave me hanging?

The next morning, after breakfast, Zeke said he’d like to go out to the barn. I said I’d take him and then asked Rosene, who was doing dishes, if she wanted to go too.

“No.” She laughed. “That barn has changed a whole lot since 1949 but not so much since last week. I’m going to tidy up in here.”

“Don’t overdo it,” I said.

“I won’t, ma’am.” She shot me a sassy smile.

As Zeke and I crossed the driveway, I held on to his arm while he made his way with his cane. When we reached the barn, Dawdi came out of the milk room. “Zeke, welcome.”

“I always knew you’d make a good farmer,” Zeke said. “You were enthralled with all of it from the beginning. You’d cry when your Dat wouldn’t let you ride on the spreader with him.”

“It took years for him to allow me on that piece of equipment.”

“That’s probably because I was almost trampled when I fell off once,” Zeke explained. “That was a tricky machine.”

“It was,” Dawdi said. “It still is, and I’m getting too old to operate it anymore.” He winked at me.

“Yep,” Zeke said. “It’s time to retire.”

Dawdi didn’t agree or disagree. Instead, he asked, “Have you been inside a dairy recently?”

Zeke shook his head and smiled. “Not since the last time I was inside this one. I, unlike you, wasn’t made to be a farmer.”

That surprised me. From everything Rosene had told me, it seemed as if Zeke was a hard worker as a young man and did well at farming.

As we walked into the milk room, Zeke said, “I didn’t realize how unfit I was for farming until I tried other things. Farming was all I’d known until then.”

“No one here ever saw you as unfit for farming,” Dawdi replied. “You were sorely missed. I don’t think Dat ever got over you leaving.”

Zeke rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “That makes me miss Jeremiah. He was a good brother. And a good friend.”

“And the best father,” Arden said.

“He was a good man.” Zeke collected himself for a moment, then pointed to the tubing along the ceiling. “So, the milk goes from the milkers straight to—” he pointed to the vat—“here?”

“That’s right,” Dawdi said. “It’s much more streamlined than it used to be. Of course, we have a bigger herd too. . . .”

A half hour later, as I walked Zeke to the house, he said, “I love this place. It feels more like home than even my own house did, which I understand isn’t in the family anymore.”

“That’s right,” I said. “It sounds as if Dawdi is the only cousin who still farms in Lancaster County.”

“That’s a shame,” Zeke said. After a long pause, he said, “When I came home the first time, Mamm blamed the Simonses for me not wanting to join the church. She called them worldly. She saw Monika as being different, running her store and being from Germany. She dressed differently than the Amish women for sure, but even differently than the Mennonite women around here. And it was hard for her to have Jeremiah living with a Mennonite family instead of an Amish one. She wanted him to marry a girl who grew up Amish, not Clare, who became Amish as an adult. But it wasn’t the Simonses’ fault I left. They were good people.”

He stumbled a little, and I held him steady. “The Simonses did give me a glimpse of something more, of possibilities. All of them had traveled. They had a car. And fancier food than we ate. And they had so much going on at the store—people coming and going. And Martha! Oh, dear Martha. She was something. What happened to her?”

“I don’t know yet,” I answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Rosene is in the middle—well, close to the end, maybe, of telling me what happened in 1948 and 1949. Right now, in the story, Martha is missing in Berlin—perhaps East Berlin.”

Zeke shook his head. “See what I mean? Those Simonses had adventures. They inspired me to have adventures of my own. But they didn’t inspire me not to join the church. It just wasn’t meant to be at the time.”

“At the time? What do you mean?”

“Oh, I’m just rambling,” he said. “Do you think you could help me find a nearby assisted living place to move into in about a month or so? I don’t want to wear out my welcome here.”

Everyone on the farm seemed to be thriving. Dawdi was thrilled to have Zeke home. Zeke seemed to have charmed Mammi, because she had been on her best behavior. Gabe was back to his old self and was officially working for Mammi in the store again. Kamil seemed more relaxed around us. Drew stopped by the house more and more.

And Rosene seemed to grow younger each day.

Then there was me. I was in a conundrum. When I’d arrived home from Haiti, I couldn’t wait to leave the farm. Now I dreaded leaving in June. Misty and Shawn’s resort was beautiful, and I’d enjoyed coordinating the wedding and my work for the week. But I missed being around older people. I missed my older people in particular.

But what future did I have on the farm?

I took Zeke to visit two different assisted living places. One was as nice as his place in Alaska and within a half hour of the farm. But he wanted to see a couple more.

On Tuesday at lunch, Dawdi told Zeke to take his time finding a place to live. After Dawdi went out to the barn and Mammi returned to the store, Zeke said, “I really don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Rosene said. “Arden wouldn’t tell you to take your time if he didn’t mean it.”

Brenna texted to say Lena’s estate was settled, and she wanted to talk to Rosene about it. It was raining that day, so Rosene and I barged in on Gabe instead of going all the way to the barn in the rain. Zeke tagged along. I’d only texted Brenna about Zeke. It would be her first time to meet him by video. I sat in the middle of the couch, between Rosene and Zeke.

At first, the connection was poor, but then it came through. I introduced Zeke to Brenna.

“Hello, niece,” he said.

“Hello, Onkel,” she answered. “I’m happy to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Gabe is here too.” He stepped into the camera field and waved.

I thought about how Gabe was like our Zeke—the farmhand we had a good relationship with and missed when he was gone.

“You should start by telling Rosene about her house,” I said. “Then you and I can talk about the wedding. We only have a month. . . .”

Brenna clapped her hands together and grinned, which was so unlike her. She didn’t used to show much emotion.

“Rosene,” she said, “I think everything is settled. The leasing company has the information they need and will rent the house out on six-month to one-year contracts. They’ll be responsible for repairs and will notify me of any issues. The rent money, after their cut, will be deposited directly into your account. And they’ll send you tax information that’s needed to pay both your German taxes and your US taxes. You’ll also need to pay German property taxes. Herr Mayer gave me the name of a tax preparer that he recommends.”

“Thank you,” Rosene said.

“Lena made several updates to the house about a decade ago. The property company will paint the inside and redo the hardwood floors, which will be done in a few days. Then they’ll advertise the property.”

“Perfect,” Rosene said.

They chatted for a few more minutes and then Brenna said, “Okay. One more thing. Lena left a letter addressed to you in the desk.”

“Did you open it?”

Brenna shook her head. “It looks like a personal letter, as if she intended to mail it but didn’t have a chance.”

“Just bring it with you when you come home.”

“I’ll do that.” Brenna’s gaze shifted to me. “On to the wedding plans.”

“I should call you back,” I said, “after I walk Rosene and Zeke to the house.”

“I can do it,” Gabe said.

Brenna told Rosene and Zeke good-bye, and then they headed to the door.

As they left and the door closed, Brenna said, “Rosene and Zeke are so cute together.”

I laughed. “They’re both over ninety.”

“So?”

“You’re in love. You’re projecting.”

“I don’t think so. . . .” Brenna grinned.

I started watching Rosene and Zeke when they were together. It was obvious they cared for each other, but did they still share romantic feelings after all these years?

Zeke always stood when Rosene came into the room. His eyes sparkled when she spoke. He sat beside her at meals. Even though he hobbled around on a cane, he refilled her coffee and brought her glasses of water and walked with her a half mile each day to build up her strength. He towered over her by at least a foot but hovered when he was close to her, as if his very presence could protect her. One time I observed Rosene turn up her face toward him just as he ducked his head toward her. My heart lurched at the sight.

From the moment Rosene and Zeke heard each other’s voices and saw each other again, they’d been connecting. Rosene had paid an exorbitant amount for Gabe to fly out to get Zeke home. Zeke had upended his life to move back to Lancaster County. I thought he wanted to come home—but maybe what he really wanted was to return to Rosene.

Zeke sat on the front porch with her in the afternoon. I wasn’t sure what they talked about, but it seemed to be meaningful to both of them.

Life on the farm had a comforting routine, plus the variety of people kept things interesting. Zaida and Cala and the children came out a couple of times while Kamil did the afternoon milking with Dawdi. The children played on the lawn, and Zaida and Cala visited with Rosene and Zeke. Gabe, when he wasn’t working in the store, often visited with Zeke and Rosene on the porch or helped Dawdi with light chores.

One afternoon, as I helped Dawdi repair the fence in the south pasture, I brought up the future of the farm. “Would you have offered the farm to just Ivy if she wasn’t married to Conrad?”

Dawdi, who held a hammer in his hand, froze. “What do you mean?”

“Did you want to give the farm to Ivy or to Conrad?”

“To both.” He hammered the nail in the split rail fence several times and then stood straight with his hand on the small of his back.

I squared my shoulders. “Would you be willing to give the farm to me?”

He cocked his head as he asked, “Once you’re married?”

“No. Before I’m married. Even if I never marry.” I put my hand on my hip. “Remember, I’m not even twenty-one yet.”

He laughed. “Operating a farm is a lot of work.”

“I know that,” I said. “And you know I know that. But I’m strong, and I understand how to operate a dairy farm and manage the land. I could do it if you supervised me for the next few years.”

“Are you serious?”

I nodded.

“But you’re planning on going to Alaska to work—and then who knows what.”

“I was planning to go back to Alaska, but while I was there, I realized this land matters to me. It’s part of me.” I gestured across the pasture. “If allowed, I think I could make a life and a living here and keep it in the family.”

Dawdi tugged on his beard with his free hand. “You are serious, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well.” He spoke slowly. “Think about it some more and pray about it. I’ll do the same. We’ll talk about this again soon.”

When I did the milking with Dawdi that Saturday and Sunday, I quizzed him about things I didn’t know. Had he found a new farrier for the horses? Did he get bids on grain and the feed that he didn’t grow, or did he always order it from the feed store? If he could have a tractor on the farm, would he?

At that question, he said, “Treva, if you end up taking over the farm and you stay Mennonite, I’m fine if you have a tractor. Just don’t bring electricity back into the house until I’m dead.”

I assured him I wouldn’t.

On Sunday, I went to the Amish service to see how people reacted to Zeke. I shouldn’t have been surprised that there wasn’t any drama. He sat with Dawdi on the men’s side. Literally no one remembered Zeke. After the service, he said sitting that long was hard, but he enjoyed the service, even though he didn’t remember much Pennsylvania Dutch. However, he said, the meal afterward of bean soup, fresh bread, and peanut butter spread was even better than he remembered as a child.

On Tuesday, Rosene baked a cake for my twenty-first birthday, Mammi made lasagna, and Ivy brought baguettes and a big salad. Everyone, including Gabe and Drew, celebrated with me. And Brenna joined via video to sing me happy birthday.

The next Sunday, I went to the Mennonite church, and Gabe went with me. A couple of times during the service, he leaned forward with his hands clasped together.

I had been so eager to do God’s work when I went to Haiti, but I’d left depleted. Gabe had felt far away from God the last few years, but now seemed to have grown closer. It took Zeke years before he truly came to know the Lord. It took some of us longer to return than others.

On the way home, Gabe asked, “What do you think it means to start over?”

“Are you referring to Pastor Mike’s sermon from a few weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

“Starting over means . . .” I stole a glance at him and grimaced. “Starting over? I don’t know. See what Google says.”

He pulled out his phone and a minute later said, “To make a new beginning.”

I thought about it a second and said, “To make. It’s deliberate.”

“Do you think one can start a new beginning in an old environment?”

“Yes.” I reached out and touched his arm. “Especially in a store one has already worked at for the last eight years. Has Mammi asked you to manage the place yet?”

He laughed. “I think that’s wishful thinking on your part.”

I grew serious. “What steps would you take to make a new beginning, no matter where you land?”

“I’d be more committed to the future.”

“What would that look like?”

After a long pause, he said, “I have some ideas, but I’m not ready to talk about them yet.”

“Fair enough.” I wasn’t ready to talk with him about asking Dawdi for the farm yet either. What if Dawdi’s answer was no? What would I do instead?

On Monday, I finished planning and confirmed the details for Brenna’s wedding. Dawdi approved of having a photographer as long as they only took pictures of the wedding party and Englischers, which made me sad. I’d really hoped for a photo of Rosene with Zeke.

That afternoon Drew and Stephanie stopped by and both Rosene and Zeke talked about life on the farm during and after World War II, and Zeke talked about Jeremiah. Zeke talked about what it was like to be harassed for not being a soldier.

“I remember the POWs harassing you. Did other people too?” Rosene asked.

“Jah,” he said. “Sometimes when I was driving a buggy or wagon on the road, men would yell out their truck windows at me.”

“You weren’t even eighteen when the war ended,” Rosene said.

“Jah,” Zeke said. “But I was big. I looked older. It was hard for other people when they thought we Amish weren’t doing our part. I understood that. Their loved ones were dying.”

“It was a hard time,” Drew said, “for everybody.”

Zeke said, “It wasn’t hard for me, except for having Jeremiah gone. I didn’t mind people harassing me. I understood.”

“I never knew you felt that way,” Rosene said. “I was just so glad you were safe on the farm.”

“And then I wasn’t safe on the farm,” he said. “I was out in the big, bad world, but I soon realized it really wasn’t that big nor that bad. Sure, there were bad people who did bad things. But there were more good people. The Englischers, generally, weren’t nearly as bad as I expected. Many were closer to God than I was and much more sincere. They understood salvation when I didn’t at the time. They cared about their neighbors. And they cared about me.”

I headed into the kitchen to start dinner, and Gabe followed me in.

I asked, “Want a cup of coffee? I’ll heat up the pot.”

“Thanks.” He sat down at the table. “I really like Zeke,” he said. “He’s straightforward. It’s like he really knows himself. Do you think he was always that way?”

I shook my head. “I think he was a typical guy when he was younger.” I gave Gabe a sassy look. “Sorry.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “No offense taken.”

I sat down at the table. “He left without settling things with Rosene. He said he’d write—but it seems he didn’t. I don’t think he was very self-aware back then.”

“What do you think made him change?”

I leaned toward Gabe. “A whole lot of years.”

He frowned. “That’s not very encouraging.”

“And God. And maybe learning to be honest about things.” I stood, retrieved two mugs, and stepped to the stove. “Why do you ask?”

Gabe put both of his hands flat on the tabletop. “I’m just trying to figure out what to work on first.” He shot me a grin. “I’ll save aging for later.” His face grew serious. “I’ve learned a lot from the story Rosene is telling and also from spending time with Zeke. I can relate to him.”

I gave Gabe a thumbs-up. I was learning a lot from Rosene and Zeke too.

The next day, as I drove Rosene home from her last cardiac rehab appointment, I told her I’d had an email from Brenna. “She said your house in Germany has been rented out to a couple from the Netherlands with four children. The wife is teaching at the University of Frankfurt for a year.”

Rosene exhaled, as if in relief. “That’s perfect. How wonderful for there to be children in the house again. Dorina and I were the last—and that was eighty years ago.”

“Did you ever think of selling the house?” Before she could answer, I winked and said, “You could take Zeke on a yearlong cruise.”

Rosene waved her hand at me, as if telling me to stop. Then she said, “I think the bishop would object to that.”

I laughed. “I think so too.” Then I changed the subject. “I’ve been thinking about Mammi and Gran growing up as friends here in Lancaster County. Mammi mentioned that the first time she ever visited the store, your clock was chiming the hour, and that it was the only clock in the store at the time.”

“Jah,” Rosene said. “I was there that day with Arden and Janice. Clare was tending the store, and the children and I were on a walk and stopped in to say hello. Priscilla came in with her mother. A year later, Priscilla and your gran started school with Janice. They became close, but Priscilla and Laurel were particularly close. Arden was in the third grade. They all ran around together as they grew up.”

“When did Dawdi and Mammi start courting?”

“Well, not until they were eighteen or so, but I think Arden only had eyes for Priscilla since he was a boy.”

That made me feel warm inside.

“Priscilla’s parents loved her, but her father was ill most of her growing up and her mother wasn’t a warm person—no doubt she was worn down from caring for her husband,” Rosene said. “Clare and Jeremiah looked out for Priscilla. And Laurel’s love and Arden’s attention helped her too. Priscilla was quiet, but she would light up in the store when the clock chimed. She always really loved that.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Why did you put the clock in the store instead of the house?”

“That’s a bit complicated. Would you like me to tell you the end of the story?”

“Jah,” I answered. “Of course.”