CHAPTER 34

Reuben slogged over to the spigot and turned off the hose. Then he, Armin, Pops, the bishop, and Nathaniel huddled in a circle and spoke in hushed tones. If I’d been one of them, I’d be elated the barn was still standing, but I figured Reuben was embarrassed—his face was streaked black and the lower third of his beard was missing. The bishop and Pops might be admonishing themselves for allowing Reuben to use gasoline. Even I knew it was a foolhardy method to start a fire.

“Praise God.” Rhoda’s hand wrapped her throat. She and Lizzie thanked the fire fighters as they gathered their hoses and prepared to leave. “May we serve you anything?” Rhoda asked. “Surely you’re thirsty and hungry.”

“Thanks, ma’am, but no time. Just got an aid call—not a fire, I’m glad to say.” They climbed aboard their gigantic trucks, backed out of the barnyard and lane, and rumbled away. Lizzie waved at them and one responded with a wave of his own. If the barn had caught fire, the men might’ve been here half the night trying to tame the inferno.

My emotions were scrambled, my adrenaline spent. Sitting on the bottom step next to Ginger, I must have looked like a ghost. Bishop Troyer ambled over to me.

“Was fehlt dir den, Sally? Are you all right?” He lowered himself next to me. “You look sad in your face.”

I watched Pops poke the pile of burnt jewelry boxes with a rake; I assumed he was checking for live embers. Reuben came alongside him and patted Pops on the shoulder—what seemed an act of gratitude and admiration. Pops had committed a daredevil feat, and I was thankful beyond measure he’d emerged from the workshop unscathed.

“I’m grateful everyone’s okay and that the barn didn’t burn,” I said to the bishop.

“It was the Lord’s will or it would have.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Do you think it was a coincidence that Ezekiel came back and that you’re here?”

“I don’t know what to think about anything.” I gathered my courage, as if I were about to leap across a stream. “Did you know my mother ditched me when I was a toddler? I don’t even know for sure that Pops is my father.”

“Do you think the Lord holds that against ya?”

Elbows on knees, I clasped my hands. “I’ve read about the sins of the father being passed on for three generations.”

“That was before the Lord atoned for our transgressions by sacrificing his Son.”

“Do you really believe that’s true?”

“Yah, absolutely. Do you not know how Nathaniel’s Esther left for the majority of her adult life, then was welcomed back by her family and the community? Think about the apostle Peter, who denied Christ three times. And the apostle Paul, who claimed to be the worst sinner of all after persecuting early Christians. Both went on to be church leaders and write most of the New Testament.”

I envisioned the letters from the bank and felt my anger toward Pops rekindling. “My father has lied to me over and over. I just learned he took out a mortgage on our house and wasn’t paying the bank.”

“’Tis not my place to judge another man. The Lord will do that. But it is my position to admonish willful disobedience and to encourage repentance. Your father could ask the Almighty to forgive him.”

Using shovels and pitchforks, several bearded Amishmen helped Pops unearth the charred rubble. Steam continued to rise from what used to be Reuben’s workshop. Amish women, among them Esther and Anna, unfolded a card table and covered it with baked goods and paper plates—for the men, I guessed. Lizzie and Rhoda brought out cups and lemonade. I watched people, both Amish and English, continue to arrive to help, a community of goodwill and solidarity.

I zeroed in on Armin—his wide shoulders and rugged good looks.

“I’ve heard you and Armin are growing close,” the bishop said, following my stare. “He told me he was going to see you today with hopes of bringing you back.”

“That’s true.” Ginger’s moist nose nudged the back of my hand. Her maternal condition demanded I settle down somewhere for the next few months. “I’d like to stay in the area. Rhoda said I could live with them if Reuben agreed. Would you be opposed?”

“To your living with them? Not at all. But do you understand that Armin is planning to join the church?”

“Yes, he told me.” I swung my knees toward Bishop Troyer. “Would you let me join too?”

“I suggest you try living a Plain life for six months—maybe a year—before you consider joining, to see if you can make the adjustments.” His eyes softened. “’Tis a lifetime commitment, do ya understand that? Some Englischers look at us as a perfect society, but we have our share of troubles, trials, and temptations, just like anyone else.” He glanced to my father, then back to me. “I know of a dozen people who’ve joined the Amish church and then eventually left. On the other hand, a few have joined us and stayed.”

“I’ve felt alone my whole life,” I blurted out.

“If God cares about the sparrows—according to a verse in Matthew—then he certainly cares about you. The hairs on your head are numbered.”

My hand moved to my hair, straggling out of its ponytail. I doubted if God cared if I went bald. But here, I might finally feel whole.

“I would never proselytize—encourage an Englischer to join us,” he said. “But come meet with me when and if you’re ready. For starters we can talk about forgiveness. Something we all struggle with.”

“Even you?”

“Yah, we’re all sinners in our heart. ’Tis human nature. I’ve asked the Almighty to forgive me a dozen times today.”

I wondered if he were referring to his reaction toward Pops and Reuben. “How can you forgive someone who’s never asked for it? Like my mother.”

“When we hold on to unforgiveness, it’s like an iron chain around our neck dragging us into the past.” He stroked his beard. “You come by, and we’ll talk about it more.”

“I might just do that,” I said. “In fact, I will.”

Smelling of smoke, Pops shambled over to us. Soot covered his clothes, and black streaks masked his sweaty cheeks. He held out his arms. “There’s my girl.”

I leaped to my feet and hugged him. “Thank God you’re okay.” In the short time he’d been here, I could tell he’d put on a couple pounds. “If anything happened to you I don’t know what I’d do,” I said. “Now we need to get your kidneys better.”

“Rhodie’s taking me to a specialist in a few days.”

The bishop handed Pops a white handkerchief and he dabbed his face.

“She’s already changed my diet—lowered my salt and protein intake. And she’s praying to beat the band.” He scuffed his toe into the ground and dislodged a pebble.

“Aren’t you happy about that?” I asked, noticing his look of defeat.

He shook his head. “I’ve failed you as a father.”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve been two parents in one. The best.” Tears pressed at the backs of my eyes. “I shouldn’t have taken out my hostility on you.”

“But I’ve made a mess of things,” Pops said. “Even if I get better, I can’t work on the car lot anymore. I need rest and Rhodie insists I recuperate here. Ralph wants to buy Honest Ed’s from me lock, stock, and barrel, but I don’t want to leave you high and dry.” He dabbed around his eyes. “There’s more I need to tell you.”

“Pops, I saw the letters from the bank. I know you took out a second mortgage.”

“Oh.” He crammed the handkerchief into his pocket. “And to think I had the impudence to call myself Honest Ed. The only person I fooled was myself.”

“If you’d told me you needed money, maybe I could have helped.” I took his elbow and assisted him onto the step next to Bishop Troyer. “I could have taken on a part-time job and still worked on the lot when you needed me.”

“I thought I could handle it—” His chin dipped. “I’m no use to anyone. But I could pay off the house with the money from Ralph and give it to you, Sally.”

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to live there without you.”

“Would you rather I leave?” Bishop Troyer asked.

“No, please stay.” Pops seemed comfortable sitting next to this righteous man. I wondered if they’d spoken in my absence. “No more secrets,” Pops said. “Yah?”

“Including about Mom?” I said.

“I figured I was protecting you by keeping you from locating her.”

“Then you know where she is?”

He brushed soot off his pants leg. “No, but I’ll help you track her down if that’s your wish.”

I glanced over to the women—Rhoda, Lizzie, Esther, Anna, and more—offering snacks and drinks to everyone helping. I was tired, so very tired, of carrying around my anger, my disappointments, and my bitterness. My hand on the railing, I closed my eyes and listened to the women’s laughter and conversation. Then all their joyful chatter quieted. I could hear only the breeze tickling my ears and a bird’s trilling. I inhaled the farmland fragrances of anticipated springtime.

I prayed: Dear God, I’m not strong enough to make it on my own. I need you, now and forever.

A mantle as smooth and plush as velvet seemed to drape itself across my shoulders, comforting and soothing my weary soul. It was as if the God of the whole universe had materialized in this barnyard to tell me I’d never be alone again. He was a better father than Pops could ever be. He would never let me down. Would never abandon me as my mother had. I experienced peace and tranquility I’d never felt before.

I opened my eyes to see Pops watching me with a worried expression. “Well, of course you’d want to meet your mother,” he said.

“Maybe next year. You’re the guy who raised and loved me. And you were right, she could have found me if she’d wanted to.” I took his hand, the one I’d held on to all my life. “I’ve got more important things to think about right now.”

“But can you ever forgive me?” His voice cracked.

“Yes, of course.” The art of forgiveness; it was time I learned it.