Mrs. Troyer’s gaze took in the array of dishes we had brought in. “Becky, how can we possibly eat all of this?” She lifted the lid from one of the casseroles Becky had prepared. “What’s this?”
“Manicotti.” Becky removed the cornbread from the oven. “I got the recipe from television.”
For the briefest moment, a pained look crossed her mother’s face. Becky missed it, though, because she had closed her eyes to savor the warm cornbread smell. It did smell wonderful. Everything did. I groaned inwardly. My diet would resume after Thanksgiving, I promised myself. “Can I help?” I placed the red velvet cake on the maplewood hutch in the corner, piled high with desserts.
As expected, both Becky and Mrs. Troyer said in unison, “No, you’re a guest.”
Mrs. Troyer replaced the lid on the manicotti. “There is one thing, Chloe. Could you go outside and find Ruth? She should be in here to help her sister and me.”
I supposed that since Ruth wasn’t a guest that was allowed. “Okay.” I wrapped my scarf back around my neck. I hadn’t yet removed my coat.
During the brief time I had been indoors, the snow had picked up considerably. As I slipped across the slick grass, I wished I’d worn practical snow boots instead of the stylish, calf-high pair with no tread. The boots were meant for walking the sidewalk of a city, not the fields of an Amish farm.
Ruth had not moved from the moment she stormed out of the house. She still sat on the bench, staring into the remnants of her mother’s summer vegetable garden. Now a thin layer of snow lay over the leaves piled on the garden to protect the soil during the long winter. Snowflakes also gathered on the brim of Ruth’s bonnet and her black apron.
“Ruth, are you ready to come back inside? Your mom sent me out here to look for you.”
She shook her head.
“Mind if I sit?”
When she didn’t react, I took that as a yes—or at least an I don’t care.
As best I could, I brushed off the snow that had collected on the bench. The wet snow soaked the cotton fingers of my gloves, so I buried my hands deep into my coat pockets. “What are you doing out here in the cold?” I sat beside her on the bench. Lord, give me the right words to say.
She shrugged.
“You’re not wearing your cloak. We should go inside. You’ll freeze if you sit out here much longer.”
“I don’t care.” Her voice was sullen. Spoken like a true teenager.
I suppressed a smile. Amish teens weren’t that much different from English ones. Same attitude, just no Internet. “Why don’t you care? Is it because you didn’t go to the wedding?”
She gave a long, suffering sigh. “Yes, no, it’s everything. I don’t get to go anywhere anymore. I never see my friends, not even Anna.”
I had the itchy feeling I wasn’t the best person to have this conversation with Ruth, but I forged ahead. “I know rules in the district have gotten stricter.”
She turned to me, her blue eyes accusing. “What would you know about it? You’re an Englischer.”
I swallowed. “I know what I’ve heard when your family has spoken about it.” I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth. “But you’re right, I don’t really know about it. How has the district changed?”
Some of the anger died in her eyes. “The smallest step out of line is held up in front of the church during Sunday services.”
“What do you mean by ‘held up’?”
“Well, when one of Anna’s brothers had his hair cut too short, the bishop mentioned it in church and asked us to pray for him. That way next time he would know the right way to style his hair. Anna’s family was horrified. Her father was furious at Anna’s brother.”
“Maybe this is one reason they won’t let Anna see you. They don’t want that to happen again.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I know it is. No one wants to be embarrassed in front of the church.” Her knuckles turned white. “Bishop Glick would never have reprimanded someone in front of the entire church for something so minor.” She shivered, then continued, “The next week the bishop talked about our family. You should have seen Daed’s face—I’ve never seen him so red.” She paused. “The bishop spoke of you visiting us. Becky and Timothy, too. He warned how close friendships with Englischers can lead the community away from the church. Ever since then, we’ve been treated like lepers.”
“When was that?”
“Two weeks ago.”
And I’m just hearing about this now? Had I known all along, I would have stayed away from the Troyer home. I didn’t want to be the reason for friction between them and their district.
“Yesterday, the deacon was here and told us not to go to the wedding. My parents weren’t going to go, but Grandfather Zook promised to take me. I love weddings.” Her eyes filled with tears. “At school, I told Anna I would be there. Now, she must think I forgot about her.”
“You can tell her at school what happened.”
“If she will talk to me.”
“Sounds like she talks to you at school.”
“Some. Not like before. She’s afraid our teacher will tell her father. I only see her for a few minutes at recess.”
“I’m sorry, Ruth.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“We aren’t the only ones who have been singled out by the bishop. For the young people on rumspringa, the bishop and deacon have canceled all kinds of singing and social times. Many of the teenagers are angry. I saw a bunch of them standing outside church a few weeks ago, whispering together. The bishop canceled their fall social.”
“Who were they?”
She thought a moment. “There must have been ten of them. I remember Leah Miller was there because she looked the angriest.”
Leah again.
I kicked off the snow collecting on the top of my boots. “Isn’t rumspringa free time for Amish youth?”
“It is, but the deacon and bishop don’t care.” She twisted her hands in her lap. She hadn’t worn her cloak, but at least she’d had enough sense to wear her gloves. “Truth is they are going to drive more people away from the Amish.”
For thirteen, Ruth was an astute observer of human nature. I stood. “Maybe the new bishop’s adjusting. That’s what your father thinks. It can’t be easy being thrown in as leader. After some time, he will relax the rules, and I’m sure that Anna’s family will let you see each other soon.”
“You don’t know how it works. The only way we can be gut friends again is if you, Timothy, and Becky stay away from us.”
Her words stung. I suspected, though, that they were the truth.
She brushed snow from her lap and stood. “Sometimes I wish Becky and Timothy would come home, so we can be like we were before. Why can’t they be happy with us being Amish?”
“It wasn’t an easy decision for them.”
She dropped her head. “I know.”
“You think you will stay Amish when it’s your time to decide?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course. I don’t want to be anything else.” She paused. I don’t,” she added, as if to convince us both.
I bumped her shoulder. “Not even for Danny Lapp?”
She turned bright red and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I behaved like this with Danny in the house. He must think I’m such a child.”
“Ruth, he’s at least ten years older than you.”
“Daed’s eight years older than Maam. That’s not much different.” She looked wistful. “Do you think he will come back to the Amish?”
I doubted it, but I didn’t tell her that. “Let’s go inside.”
The long dining table inside the kitchen was set. Becky and her mother bustled around the room with ease, Mrs. Troyer in her simple dress, apron, and prayer cap, Becky in her pink cable knit sweater, jeans, and makeup. I suspected that last Thanksgiving Mrs. Troyer had not thought that her daughter would be assisting a year later wearing American Eagle jeans.
Mrs. Troyer handed Ruth an oven mitt. “I’m glad you were able to make it inside, daughter.”
Ruth bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Maam.”
Her mother nodded.
As the women worked in the kitchen, the men sat in the next room chatting in Pennsylvania Dutch. I smiled at the low-pitch rumble of their words punctuated by higher-pitched exclamations from Thomas and Naomi, who was too small to help her mother in the kitchen. I was not a man or a small child. I didn’t fit in the living room.
Mrs. Troyer smiled and took pity on me. “Chloe, can you fill the water glasses on the table?”
I smiled. It was the first time Mrs. Troyer had asked me to help.
Finally, the meal was ready. Mrs. Troyer ventured into the living room to tell the men and Naomi that it was time for dinner. The family slid onto the bench seats with Grandfather Zook at one end, and Mr. Troyer at the other. As one we bowed our heads for the blessing. I waited to hear the Pennsylvania Dutch words.
Every Thanksgiving dish I could imagine, and some I didn’t expect—like Becky’s manicotti—covered the long oak table. The turkey, its tanned skin glistening and shining in the gaslight hanging overhead, had been placed near Mr. Troyer’s plate. Mashed potatoes oozed butter next to a white, porcelain gravy boat. Amish noodles, green beans, corn, and relish all had their own serving dishes too. I didn’t even look at the dozens of desserts on the hutch, waiting to be served.
“Dear Lord,” Mr. Troyer began, his head bowed and eyes tightly closed. “Thank You for Your abundant blessing on this Thanksgiving Day.”
My head snapped up. It was the first time he’d given the blessing in English, and it was for me. I was the only one in the room who couldn’t understand Pennsylvania Dutch. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes. As I started to bow my head, I caught Timothy watching me. His smile showed me that he knew how I felt about the prayer. Mr. Troyer finished and the moment he said, “Amen,” empty plates and full-serving dishes were being passed around the table.
Grandfather Zook took a sip of his water. “Chloe, did you see my beard? It grew at least an inch overnight. I have such a fine chin to grow a beard. That must be why the perp sought me out.”
“Daed,” Mrs. Troyer chided. “That sounds prideful.”
Her father selected some dill pickles from a dish. “It’s not prideful, just a statement of fact.”
“It does look a little longer.” I added relish onto my very full plate.
The old man grinned. “See? You don’t notice, Martha, because you see me all day long, but those who are away notice more.” He speared a pickle with a fork. “I’m looking forward to showing the boys at the general store come this spring.”
“If they’ll talk to you,” Ruth muttered into her piece of manicotti.
A pained expression crossed her parents’ faces.
Danny cocked his head. “Why wouldn’t they? I imagine Grandfather Zook is the center of attention when he goes to the store.”
Grandfather Zook pointed the pickle at Danny. “You’re right about that.”
Mr. Troyer spooned stuffing onto his plate. “Much in the district has changed in the last few months.”
Thomas spoke up. “The bishop canceled the Thanksgiving play at the schoolhouse, even though we worked so hard on it.” He created a small mountain of corn on his plate. “He said theatrics were sinful.”
Grandfather Zook shook his head. “The Amish Bread Bakery said they didn’t need our milk or cheese anymore. They would get it from someplace else.”
Mr. Troyer scowled at his father-in-law and said something in their language.
“Daed?” Timothy paled. “Is that true?”
“It is,” his father answered.
“It won’t be long before other Amish businesses fall in line. Everyone wants to stay out of the deacon’s way.” Grandfather Zook cut into his ham slice. “Becky, this is gut!”
She beamed.
“Don’t you mean the bishop?” Danny asked.
“The deacon’s the one who is really running the show. I’m sure he’s happy to see our dairy struggle.”
A knot formed in my stomach. The dairy farm is struggling?
Danny’s dimple receded into his cheek. “Sounds an awful lot like my old district.”
Becky sliced into the turkey breast on her plate. “What did you do about it?”
Danny cleared his throat. “I left.”
Mr. Troyer set his mug of coffee on the table. “Most of our milk goes to the Englischer milkman. There is no need to worry. No more talk about the bishop or Grossdaddi’s beard. This is Thanksgiving. We should be counting our many blessings from the Lord, not our challenges.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m going to be in the holiday parade tomorrow.”
Thomas bounced in his seat. “What? Really?”
I told them about the snowman costume. Even Mr. Troyer cracked a smile.
Thomas looked at his father. “Can we go? I want to see Chloe, the snowman.”
Mr. Troyer considered this. “We’ll see. It depends how you behave today. If you are gut, maybe Grossdaddi will take you.”
Grandfather Zook chuckled. “That means eating all of your carrots.”
Thomas’s eyes widened. He looked at the carrots his mother had piled on his plate. With determination, he forked one and shoved it into his mouth.
The conversation shifted as Danny, who worked as a stable hand at a horse farm, told about the summer he worked as a rodeo clown. Everyone laughed at his story except Ruth.
Suddenly, the very real threat of tears caused me to duck my head. This was the Thanksgiving dinner I had always hoped for, and in a place I never expected. I composed myself and looked up. Ruth had barely touched her plate.
As much as I wanted to be with this family, though, I wouldn’t be the cause of Mr. Troyer’s farm failing—or the reason Ruth wouldn’t eat.