21

Ellie wasn’t surprised when Ruthann dropped by Friday evening, a two-layer chocolate fudge cake in hand. And when she asked to go upstairs to talk “privately,” Ellie knew what was coming.

Ruthann sat on the edge of Ellie’s bed and removed her headscarf. “I heard from Menno’s older sister that he’s no longer seein’ you. You must be upset.”

“Nee.” Ellie leaned back against the headboard. “’Tween you and me, I was the one who suggested we go our separate ways.”

Ruthann glanced toward the window. “Well, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am. And it’s nice of ya to ask.”

“I care, ya know.” Ruthann then told her she was going to Somerset for the rest of the winter. “Mamm’s youngest cousin needs a live-in helper during and after her upcoming back surgery. They have two children under the age of two.”

“You do love takin’ care of little ones.”

“Which is why I volunteered.” Ruthann paused a moment. “Honestly, I’ve been feelin’ restless lately, so this’ll keep me occupied till spring.” She looked rather pensive now. “I’ve already told Sol ’bout it. I’m guessin’ he’ll write to me now and then.”

“Of course he will.”

“Well, he did say he’ll be busy pruning the orchard. But I’ll be busy, too.”

Ellie was confused. This did not sound like either Sol or Ruthann.

When they finished talking, Ellie walked downstairs with her cousin, glad she’d dropped by. It’s heartening she’s concerned about me, even though I’m fine, she thought, actually more concerned about Sol and Ruthann’s relationship.

The following week, Ellie gave Dat a list of six new customers in town, and he beamed.

“I was worried that Evan’s absence would affect our sales,” Dat said, “so it’s a big help what you’re doin’, Ellie.”

“Even though I’m not nearly as strong as Evan, I’m fillin’ in wherever I can.”

“But evidently, you’re quite persuasive,” her father replied, thanking her.

The next day, Mamm and Dat received another letter from Evan, who’d written that a good buddy from his platoon wanted him to go home with him during their thirty-day leave.

Ellie sat with her mother on the front room settee as she read Evan’s letter for herself. I’ve accepted his invitation. Honestly, I think it’s for the better—I don’t want to offend you with my military haircut and uniform. Let’s face it: I’d get a lot of looks back there from anyone who knows me. I’ll keep in touch, though, before I leave for Vietnam at the end of February.

Ellie stared at the letter, trying to comprehend her brother’s decision. Didn’t Evan realize that nearly everything he’d done since leaving home was offensive to Mamm and Dat and their dearly held beliefs?

She handed the letter back to Mamm, whose lower lip trembled. “Aw, Mamm.” She leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I know this makes ya sad.”

“It just would’ve been so gut to see him again, no matter what he looks like.” Mamm wiped her eyes. “Your poor father will take this mighty hard.”

“Jah,” Ellie whispered, knowing they all would.

After evening Bible reading and prayer with Dawdi and her parents, Ellie headed upstairs with the day’s newspaper, wanting to look at the listings for land sales in the area. Again, she thought of how nice it would be to add cherry and plum trees to their orchard business, expanding their offerings. Following the news of Evan’s decision not to come home for his leave, she needed something to keep her mind occupied.

At her writing desk, she scanned through the listings and found two properties of interest. She circled both a thirty-acre plot in Smoketown and a fifteen-acre plot in Ronks. Eager to have a look and nose around a bit, she imagined all the new fruit trees she so wished they could plant.

Ellie recalled sharing her secret desire with Evan before he left for basic training. He’d told her to talk to Dat about it.

I just need to get up the nerve.

A few days later, when Lyle returned to the house to fill up his coffee thermos, Elisabeth told him she’d found a shoebox of letters under Evan’s bed when she was dry mopping that morning. “The letters are from Jack Herr during his months of basic training and then after he went overseas. I’m not sure how I missed seein’ the box before,” she said. “I left it on Evan’s bed—”

“Nee, I won’t violate Evan’s privacy,” Lyle said. “Next time I’m up there, I’ll put the box under the bed and close the door.”

“Thought you’d want to know.” Elisabeth poured steaming hot coffee into the thermos.

“I appreciate it,” he said, pulling on his work gloves, then carrying the thermos back to the orchard. It was time he paid the bishop a visit to share some things he’d had on his mind for a while now.

After supper, Lyle hitched up Captain to the family carriage and headed to the bishop’s place. “Been meanin’ to visit with ya,” he said when the man of God came to the back door.

“Kumme en, Lyle.” Bishop took his coat, scarf, and black felt hat. “Happy to talk with ya anytime.”

Lyle followed him into the warm kitchen. Seeing Tessie at the sink washing dishes, he said, “It’s a private matter.”

“We’ll go to the front room,” Bishop replied.

Once they were seated across from each other, Lyle began to share how frustrated he was with their tradition of Rumschpringe. “Elisabeth found letters in Evan’s room this mornin’ from Jack Herr, our neighbor’s son who was killed in the war.”

Bishop nodded. “I recall hearin’ word of his passing.”

Lyle drew a long breath. “Our Evan was on the path to baptism. Seems to me he wouldn’t have taken up with Jack Herr and other worldly fellas if he hadn’t felt the freedom to do so durin’ Rumschpringe.”

“You’re questionin’ the age-old tradition, then?” Bishop asked, his brow furrowed.

Lyle leaned forward, wanting to make his point clear. “There’s just no way Evan would have ended up where he is without that.” He paused. “Remember, Evan was close friends with Solomon Bontrager for all their growing-up years. So jah, I feel strongly that Rumschpringe changed everything.”

Bishop looked at him solemnly. “Die Youngie are our community’s treasure. And for three hundred years, Rumschpringe has worked for the vast majority of our sons and daughters. The boys, ’specially, tend to push the boundaries a bit—which they have the choice to do, just as you and I had a choice back when—and then they’re usually willing to come forward and join church. Without that time of independence, they might wonder what they missed out on for the rest of their lives.”

“But what if even one of our sons is lost because of this freedom?” Lyle asked respectfully.

Bishop’s eyes were downcast for a moment. “That’s the concern of every parent’s heart, that their children might stray and not choose Gott after their running-round years.” He ran his hand over his face. “He hears the cries of His People, Lyle. I’m not giving up on Evan.”

“Neither will I.”

“Under that hardened veneer, I believe Evan’s heart is still soft toward the Lord.” Bishop went on to mention that Evan had replied to two of his letters. “A gut sign, jah?”

“Well, but he’s decided not to come home for his leave before goin’ to war. So that’s a different sign, and not a gut one.” Lyle disliked contradicting the bishop, but he wanted him to know what he and Elisabeth and the family were up against.

“As you know, Lyle, Evan has the free will to make wise choices or poor ones, just as we do daily.”

“And God is sovereign,” Lyle said, assuming that was likely the next thing the bishop would state. Even so, the man had heard him out, and Lyle had only come to voice his objection to the practice. “I appreciate ya keepin’ in touch with Evan.”

Bishop folded his hands as he leaned forward. “I was ordained to be the shepherd of this little flock. And searching out the one who is lost is my responsibility under Gott.”

Moved by that, Lyle rose and thanked him for his time, glad to have gotten this off his chest. He walked through the house to the utility room with Bishop close behind.

“I’ll continue prayin’ for Evan,” Bishop told him as Lyle donned his outer clothing. “And for you and Elisabeth, too. I caused my parents a fair amount of heartache when I was seventeen, but their prayers made a difference in my choice to turn back to the faith of my childhood.”

“I’ll definitely share that with my wife.” Lyle thanked him again and headed out to his horse and carriage.

The following Saturday morning, after filling the coal stove in the front room, Lyle and his father headed off to purchase three wheelbarrows from a farm auction west of them, in East Lampeter. While mingling with other Amish farmers, they overheard the local bishop telling about a barn that had burned nearby—arson, according to the police.

Perking up his ears, Lyle heard that the blaze was caused by teenage fellows who’d been stalking and taunting the young Amishmen living at that farm. “The Amish fellas were draft age,” the bishop said somberly.

An older man accompanying the bishop said, “We’ve had several attacks on our teenage boys in the past weeks. One was hit with a brick while out on the field lane, mindin’ his own business, chust bringin’ his eight-mule team back for the night.”

“Seems like these things keep a-happenin’,” another farmer said, a large bag of homemade popcorn from the nearby food stand tucked under one arm. “And they ain’t pickin’ on just us Plain folk, neither. I’ve read in the newspaper about attacks on any young men who look to be draft age. Folks must assume they’re COs or they wouldn’t still be around.”

Immediately, Lyle thought of Evan. Truth be told, he’d soon be in a far more dangerous place than right here in Amish country, even with the possibility of attacks.